


Insect King

by Toad1



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Androids, Anxiety, Character Development, Character Study, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, Depression, Gen, General, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Post-Apocalypse, Science Fiction, life story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-08-28 07:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 141,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8436940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toad1/pseuds/Toad1
Summary: Two men came from Battery City. One joined the military as a teenager, bored with his bleak career as a factory worker, while the other left in his twenties to flee a life that was suffocating him. After a single fateful meeting, the lives of Dr. Death Defying and Tommy Chow Mein became intertwined, leading to new relationships, brutal conflicts, tension and healing, and a confrontation with Better Living that no one could have expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For a list of the people who helped me with this fic (answered questions, provided translations, etc.), click [here](http://mcrdeviantclub.tumblr.com/post/152575050536/insect-king-chapter-1).

**Part One**  
  
1985  
  
Keys clicked as the interviewer typed on the computer console. A cursor flashed on the black screen. Steve sat slouched in the chair in front of the desk, jiggling his foot impatiently. A round clock ticked in the silence. The walls were bare except for a Battery City map, a dusty calendar, and a framed black-and-white picture of Dr. Miyamoto, smiling blandly into the camera.  
  
“All right, let’s start with some basic information,” the interviewer said. “What's your name?”  
  
“Steve Montano,” Steve said.  
  
“Date of birth?”  
  
He took a breath. “January 3rd, 1967.”  
  
She typed some more, then peered at the screen. “Our records show that you were born in 1969,” she said.  
  
“Yeah, it’s a typo,” he lied. “It’s been like that for years. My aunt called them a bunch of times, but they never got around to changing it.”  
  
“All right,” she said. “I'll make a note of it.”  
  
She scribbled on a note pad. Steve relaxed in his seat.  
  
“Do you have any relatives in the city?” she said.  
  
“Just my aunt,” Steve said. “She died last summer. Bone cancer.”  
  
“What’s your housing situation?”  
  
“I live in District Three,” Steve said. “Been working at the shoe factory the past couple of months.”  
  
“Very good.” She typed on the keyboard. “Any illnesses or injuries in the past six months?”  
  
“Nope. I’ve been healthy.”  
  
“Any issues with your medication?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“If you’re called out to duty, you might be put in a position where you won’t receive medication for days or even weeks,” she said. “Would you be able to handle that, or do you think that would be too stressful for you?”  
  
“Nah, I’ll be fine,” Steve said. “I didn’t get medication for the first ten years of my life. Didn’t kill me.”  
  
When the interview was over, he headed to the gymnasium. Lines of young men extended in front of each station. The nurses took Steve’s blood pressure, listened to his heartbeat, checked his hearing and vision, poked a thermometer under his tongue. He shivered in the cold air. When he stepped onto the scale, the nurse read “One hundred and thirty pounds.”  
  
“Not bad, not bad,” said a scrawny teenage boy behind him. He stepped lightly on the scale. The nurse read “Ninety-eight pounds.”  
  
Steve laughed and clapped him on the back. “Hey, keep trying,” he said. “Maybe you’ll hit one-ten by the end of the year.”  
  
“I’ll be fitter than you,” the boy said jokingly as he pulled his shirt back on. “You can’t tell me all that weight is muscle.”  
  
“More muscle than you!” he said. “You look like a goddamn string bean. The ruskies are gonna shoot you and floss their teeth with you.”  
  
Steve stretched, kicked, walked in a circle, bent over so a nurse could check his spine. He gave urine and blood samples in a curtained-off area. When everyone had been tested, they were ushered to the library, where a woman passed out test booklets. Steve took a seat near the window. A thin layer of snow had built up on the window panes. __  
  
“You will have one hour to complete this exam,” the woman said in a rehearsed voice. “This exam will test your skills in math, reading, writing, and logic. Mark your answers clearly with a lead pencil…” As she read from the sheet, the men sighed, shifted in their seats, flipped through the booklets. Finally, she set a timer. “You may begin.”  
  
For several minutes, the library was silent except for the sounds of turning pages, scratching pencils, and the occasional cough. Snow fell steadily outside the windows. Steve flipped back and forth through the test, filling in answers, occasionally checking the road outside. A layer of snow had built up on the highway, with tire tracks cutting through the ice. He sighed and drummed his pencil against the paper.  
  
Suddenly the lights went out. The heater sputtered, then went dead. Several men yelped and jumped in their seats. The boy in front of Steve leaped out of his chair.  
  
“Hey, hey, calm down,” Steve said. “It’s a government building. They’ll have it back on in ten minutes.”  
  
“It better be,” said a young man across the room.  
  
“You think this is bad, kiddo?” Steve said. “I haven’t had power at my apartment in two weeks. I’ve got blankets up over all the windows and it’s still like walking into a fucking freezer.”  
  
“Language,” the woman said as several men groaned in sympathy. A man at the next table leaned over and patted him on the shoulder.  
  
When the timer hit the half-hour mark, the lights finally flickered back on. The air seemed to sag with sighs of relief. After he returned from the break, Steve grabbed the test booklet and moved to a seat close to the heater. He worked as slowly as he could, the hot air warming his back. When he could put it off no longer, he stood up to leave. He grabbed his coat and scarf from the locker and bundled up, then stepped out into the freezing air.  
  
The snow had stopped falling. A plow grinded across the street, spewing exhaust smoke. Snow had been shoveled off the sidewalks and piled in heaps on the street corners; it clung to the roofs of the muddy, greyish buildings. Steve darted to the grocery store across the street. He warmed his hands at the heater near the desk, then grabbed a basket. The shelves held only a few rows of canned food and a net of withered onions. He picked up a can of dried peas. _Three more days,_ he thought.  
  
If they didn’t investigate his date of birth too closely, in three days he’d be ordered to report to the training facility. He’d have a month of basic military training in a government building with lights, working heaters, hot showers, and three meals a day. When his training was over, if the war was still going on by then, he’d pick a fight or smoke a joint and get kicked out of the program. Then he would have to return to his old life—but at least he’d get a month’s vacation.  
  
Steve carried his basket up to the counter. As the cashier started to ring up his purchases, he started to flip through a newspaper, then stopped. The cashier froze with her hand in the basket. Customers looked up. _Shit,_ Steve thought, his chest tightening. _Oh, shit._  
  
A long, low wail cut through the air and started to rise in volume. As the siren rang out, people cried out and dropped their baskets. Steve jammed the newspaper in the rack and darted out the door. People burst out of buildings and dashed down the street like trickling streams joining together to form a river. Cold air ripped through his lungs as he ran down the sidewalk. When he reached the crowd around the shelter entrance, he pushed through the mob and lunged to the stairwell.  
  
His footsteps rang out as he pounded down the rickety metal steps. Shouts and cries ripped through the air around him. He pushed through a knot of people and burst out onto the floor of the shelter. Several people were running around the floor, shouting for loved ones, while others were already huddled on the cots. Steve trudged past a woman yelling at a twelve-year-old boy, breathing hard, then collapsed onto one of the cots. His leg muscles ached from the running and stretching he’d performed earlier. His throat was raw from sucking in the cold air.  
  
Steve sank back against the cot and tucked his hands behind his head. Greenish lights glowed dimly from the ceiling. A baby let out creaky, gasping cries. When the doors closed with a thud, Steve squeezed his eyes shut. Cries erupted from the crowd. People switched on flashlights, the beams cutting through the darkness. A thick silence encased the shelter, as if they were inside a cave. They were cut off from the outside world.  
  
Steve glanced over at the twelve-year-old boy. He sat on the cot beside his mother, his expression unreadable. His mother didn’t look at him. Steve closed his eyes and turned away.  
  
Three more days, he thought. If he managed to survive this one.  
  
\---  
  
Anne Marie peered inside the fridge. She glanced back at her twelve-year-old son, who was doing his homework at the kitchen table, then bit her lip. A hunk of cabbage, a few onions, a single egg in its carton. She opened the cabinet next to the window. Three cans of dried beans. She bowed her head for a moment, then grabbed a pot from the cabinet under the sink.  
  
“Tommy, are you done with your homework?” she said as she turned on the stove.  
  
“Almost,” he said without looking up.  
  
“Well, finish up and clear the table so we can have dinner.”  
  
He peered at the fridge as she rustled around inside. When she took out the head of cabbage, he closed his eyes and sighed.  
  
“Don’t sigh at me, young man,” Anne Marie said. “Go on. Clear the table.”  
  
Tommy closed his schoolbook and gathered his papers, then headed off to his room. Anne Marie tried not to cringe as she peeled off globs of slimy, rotten cabbage and threw them in the trash. She started slicing the remaining cabbage into strips. Tommy suddenly appeared beside her.  
  
“Mom,” he said. “There’s a line across the street.”  
  
Anne Marie stopped slicing. “I know, Tommy,” she said without looking up.  
  
“That means they’ve got fresh bread,” he said.  
  
“I know,” she said again.  
  
“Mom. Come on. We’ve gotta get over there before they sell out.”  
  
“Tommy, I’m in the middle of fixing dinner,” she said.  
  
“But it just started!” he said. “If we hurry, we can get some from the first batch.” When she didn’t answer, he said “Mom. Please.”  
  
“For Christ’s sake, Thomas, how many times do I have to say no?” Anne Marie said. “Go. Sit down.”  
  
Tommy stepped back, then sat timidly at the table. Anne Marie’s face burned with guilt. She blew out a breath and pushed the wispy strands of hair from her face. “I’m sorry, Tommy,” she said. “We’ll go tomorrow.”  
  
“They won’t have any by tomorrow,” he said.  
  
Anne Marie didn’t respond.  
  
He sat quietly at the table while she mashed up the cabbage and cooked the beans on the stove. After Anne Marie said grace, they ate in silence for a while. Eventually, she said “Do you want to listen to the radio?”  
  
“Can I?” Tommy said.  
  
“Go on. Go get the radio.”  
  
He grabbed the radio from the living room and turned it on. “— _supplies were received at the base camp today_ ,” the newscaster said. “ _Reports say that they’re expected to move forward in early June, but heavy snowfall has limited their mobility_ …”  
  
As the woman delivered news about the war, Anne Marie gradually stopped eating. She slowly took a drink of water, her throat bobbing with every gulp. Her fork rattled as she set it beside her plate. The muscles in her face were taut with fear. Suddenly she reached over and switched it off.  
  
“Mom!” Tommy said.  
  
“That’s enough,” she said. “Finish eating. I’ll be back.”  
  
She pushed her chair back and marched out of the kitchen. From the bedroom came the familiar sounds of pacing. Tommy waited for a few minutes, then quietly finished his dinner. Every scrape and clink of silverware rang out in the silence. After dropping his plate in the sink, he fetched his homework and sat down in the living room. But the words in the schoolbook seemed to blur together. In the bedroom, the pacing went on like a swinging pendulum.  
  
He lowered his book and pushed back the curtains over the couch. A dozen people waited in line in front of the Williamsy across the street, bundled in scarves and coats. A layer of snow covered the sidewalk outside. Warm lights glowed through the Williamsy windows like hot coils through an oven door.  
  
“Tom,” Anne Marie said behind him. He jumped and turned around. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Mom,” he said. “We have to get in line. There’s a dozen people already, and they’ll be all sold out before—”  
  
“No! Jesus Christ, Tom, how many times do I have to say it?”  
  
“But we’ll be hungry! Mom! Please!”  
  
“Tom, you bring this up with me one more time and I’ll smack you upside the head,” she said. “Sit down. Do your homework.”  
  
She marched off to the bathroom, coughing. Tommy sat on the couch with his chin resting in his hands. The sauerkraut rested heavily in his stomach. When the bathroom door closed, he turned and peered out the window again. Then his eyes flickered over to the front door. The ration book lay on the kitchen counter. He summoned his courage, then eased himself off the couch and crept to the kitchen while his mother coughed behind the bathroom door.  
  
A cold chill hit his face when he stepped into the stairwell. He clambered down the steps and burst out onto the sidewalk, the snow crunching under his boots. Several people looked up when he approached the bread line. A woman marched out of the Williamsy with her head bent and her face half-hidden in a scarf, a loaf of bread tucked under her arm. She looked at him almost pityingly as she passed. A feeling of dread washed over him. He knew what was coming.  
  
Shouts and groans erupted from the crowd as soon as the Williams stepped out of the store. “I’m sorry!” he said. “We’re all out! If you’ve got coupons, come back tomorrow!”  
  
“We don’t have ‘til tomorrow!” a woman shouted.  
  
“Go to the grocer on Eighth Street! I heard they got canned food there!”  
  
“I’ve been over there!” another woman said. “It’s all expired! The hell are you trying to do to us?”  
  
The line dissolved into arguments until the Williams slammed and locked the door behind him. Two people at the front of the line tugged at the door handle while another pounded on the windows. The blinds snapped shut. People shouted and beat their fists against the walls. Tommy backed away like a frightened squirrel, then turned and darted across the road. He was about to run back to their apartment when he heard it—a long, low wail like a howl caught on the wind, first low against the ground, then rising in volume. Panic fluttered in his chest. The siren grew louder, and the crowd burst into screams.  
  
Tommy tore down the street, his feet pounding against the pavement. Fear ripped through his body like an electric current. He followed the racing crowd to the shelter and tried to push through the mob, but someone grabbed the back of his coat and yanked him back. He yelped, the world spinning around him. “Hey!” someone shouted. “Let the kid go!” The hand released him. He bolted through the doors and down the stairwell, shouts whipping through the air around him. The metal stairs clanged under his feet.  
  
When he hit the shelter floor, he darted around the aisles. “Mom?” he shouted. “Mom!” Indistinct faces whirled around him, shadowed in the greenish light. People ran past him, shouting, crying, demanding answers. His panting breaths fogged in the cold air. “Mom!” he cried. He looked around frantically, but the shelter was full of strangers. People stared at him from their cots with frightened eyes.  
  
Suddenly a hand grabbed his arm and yanked him backward. He cried out and stumbled. Anne Marie grabbed him and spun him around. His relief was quickly replaced with fear when he saw the rage in her eyes.  
  
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she shouted. “I raised you better than this, didn’t I? I raised you better than to tear off across the road right before a fucking air raid! Oh, I should beat your ass, Tommy. That’s what my mother would have done. She would have whipped my ass if I tried anything like this…”  
  
She dragged him over to one of the cots and ordered him to sit. She sat down on the cot beside him, her shoulders heaving with fury. Tommy sat stiffly beside her. He withdrew into himself, the protective guard of a child awaiting punishment. Around him, the crowd had started to settle down. People huddled on cots and bundled in blankets. Their breath was visible like cigarette smoke. A baby cried somewhere nearby.  
  
When the doors slammed shut, he jumped as if he’d heard a gunshot. People cried and gasped. The baby wailed louder. He turned to his mother, but her breathing had become sharp and ragged. Her eyes were unfocused. “Mom,” he whispered. No answer. He turned away and wrapped his arms tightly around himself. A shiver rippled across his skin as if he’d been exposed to a blast of cold air from a freezer.  
  
The siren outside abruptly cut out. The air was thick with the sound of a thousand gasping breaths. There was a hard, tense silence, as if time itself had been suspended. Then the hum of airplanes in the distance. As the engines grew louder, Tommy whispered to his mother again. She didn’t answer. He crawled underneath the cot, then closed his eyes and waited for the bombs to fall.


	2. Chapter 2

**1989  
  
** A line of vehicles cruised down the desert highway, their headlights glittering in the night like a string of diamonds. Dusty bags, suitcases, tires, old furniture, and pots and pans were secured to the tops of the cars with thick rope. Kristan’s black Camaro followed a van with a fake Christmas tree strapped to the top. As the cars inched down the road, she sighed and tapped her fingers against the steering wheel. She sifted through the trash and debris piled on the dashboard until she found a rubber band.  
  
“Jesus Christ, they’re taking forever,” Kristan said, tying her straight blonde hair into a ponytail. “What the hell’s taking so long?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Steve said heavily. “Breakdown, maybe?”  
  
“Maybe,” Kristan said. “I’m calling Meiko. We should’ve been out of here an hour ago.”  
  
She grabbed a bulky military transmitter and pulled out the antenna with her teeth. “Hey, Meiko,” she said. “Yeah, Steve and I are wondering what’s with the hold-up. Can you see what’s going on?”  
  
Static crackled from the speaker. “ _There’s a gas station ahead_ ,” Meiko said. “ _Everyone’s stopping and fueling up._ ”  
  
“Are you kidding me?” Kristan said. “No, no. That’s great. I can’t believe it. Thank you.”  
  
She switched off the transmitter and turned to Steve. “Did you hear that?” she said.  
  
“Yup,” Steve said. “I heard it.”  
  
“We’ll have to get a newspaper when we get there,” she said. “God, we haven’t had a new newspaper in like, three weeks.”  
  
She shifted in her seat with excitement. Steve tried to return her smile, then turned back to the window. A shadow was draped over the desert. Light glowed faintly at the horizon, as if fires were raging in the distance. Steve felt like a black hole lurked inside him, draining every aspect of his personality.  
  
The cars slowly shifted down the highway, abruptly stopping and lurching forward again, until the Camaro’s headlights finally cast over the gas station pumps. An attendant in a blue suit was filling the gas tanks. His eyes glowed eerily in the headlights. Kristan pulled up to one of the pumps, then paid the attendant and headed inside. The gas station lights cast harsh shadows over the concrete.  
  
“Evening, sir,” the attendant said to Steve as he unhooked the nozzle. Steve nodded to him in return, then turned away. The Dead Pegasus sign that hung over the gas pumps creaked in the wind.  
  
Kristan returned with an issue of _The Battery City Times._ She handed it to Steve. The issue was dated back two weeks, with creased, wrinkled pages. “Better get started,” Kristan said as she started the engine. “We’ve got a net scheduled tonight.”  
  
Steve sighed and turned the pages. Large headlines announced a school re-opening, potato shortages, job openings at the paper factory. Recent tests had shown a decrease in radiation levels in the air. Better Living was still sending aid to the veterans’ camp outside the city. A black-and-white photo showed a smiling Japanese woman posing with a veteran and a case of bottled water.  
  
“What do you see?” Kristan said. “Anything good?”  
  
“Not much worth talking about,” Steve said. “The camp got another delivery.”  
  
“Yeah? What did they get?”  
  
“More bottled water, looks like. I guess they’re not pushing the meds again.”  
  
Steve folded the newspaper and laid it on top of the trash on the dashboard. He rubbed his eyes and sank back against the seat. They drove down the highway and veered around a sharp curve, the luggage rattling on the roof. The Camaro’s headlights illuminated a message drawn in the dust on the back of the van. _MARA LUVS U._  
  
The moon hung high in the sky when the cars pulled off the road and parked in a circle in the plain. People hauled tents out of their trunks and unstrapped them from the roofs of their cars. A family of three built a fire in the center of the camp, the mother crouching down and rubbing two sticks together until they sparked. Kristan helped Steve into his wheelchair, then pushed him over to the fire. He dully stirred a pot of stew over the flames.  
  
“What’s the word, Steve?” Meiko said as she hefted jugs of water across the camp.  
  
“Not much,” Steve said. “Potato shortages, factory openings. Some power outage in one of the districts.”  
  
“So you guys got a newspaper?”  
  
“Yeah. But it’s not worth reading. Just the same old bullshit.”  
  
“Well, that’s reassuring,” Meiko said.  
  
After dinner, Kristan set up the ham radio in their tent. She tuned into the net, then waited for a pause in the conversation. When she heard a break, she announced their call sign.  
  
“ _Hang on, we’ve got a breaking station_ ,” said a gravely male voice. “ _Go ahead, N1HC._ ”  
  
“N1HC here with the local news,” Kristan said. “We had to take a detour off the old Highway E today. One of the telephone poles fell over, there’s wires all over the road. If you happen to know someone that’s headed that way, tell them to take a left and go around…”  
  
After she gave the local news, she passed the microphone over to Steve, who read off articles from the newspaper. After signing off, he lay down on his old military cot. Kristan talked to the operators for hours, long after most of the campers were asleep. Steve watched listlessly as one of the tent flaps wavered in the wind. Kristan’s voice seemed distant, as if he were sealed off in a cocoon from the rest of the world.  
  
Finally, she ended the call. She packed up her equipment and snuffed out the lantern, casting the tent in darkness. “Well, I’m going to bed,” she said. “You need anything, Steve?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You need anything?”  
  
“No. I’m fine.”  
  
She rustled around inside the tent, changing into an old sweater and pair of pants, then unfolded the cot. The material creaked under her weight. After several minutes, Steve assumed she had fallen asleep until she spoke again.  
  
“Hey,” she whispered. “Steve. You awake?”  
  
“Yeah,” he whispered back. “I’m awake.”  
  
“I was just thinking,” she said. “I think we need to get a spot closer to the front tomorrow.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Steve said.  
  
“Yeah. Maybe even be one of the leaders.”  
  
Steve looked up. “You want to lead the whole convoy?” he said.  
  
“I’m just sick of never knowing what’s going on,” Kristan said. “We’re always at the back of the line. Whenever something happens, we’re always the last to know.”  
  
“Well, if you think it’ll make it easier,” Steve said.  
  
“I’ll see if we can ride behind Meiko,” Kristan said. “I don’t think she’ll mind booting Jim and Rusty back a car.”  
  
“So now we’ll have to deal with them blasting the headlights,” Steve said.  
  
“Not during the day,” she said. “Maybe we’ll switch off during the night.”  
  
Steve didn’t respond. Kristan shifted on her cot, then said “You want me to talk to Julie instead? She’s only about six cars back.”  
  
“Yeah. That’s fine.”  
  
“All right. I’ll talk to her.”  
  
She rolled over on her side. After a few moments of silence, she said “Steve?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I just realized something,” Kristan said. “If we ride behind Julie, she’s probably going to want a cut of the harvest when we get settled in.”  
  
“That’s fine,” Steve said.  
  
“You sure? Because if I talk to Meiko, she’s not going to expect anything—”  
  
“Jesus Christ, Kristan, I don’t care,” Steve said. “Christ. Just go to sleep.”  
  
Kristan fell silent. Steve could feel her shocked gaze in the dark.  
  
“All right,” she said, flopping back on the cot. “Fine. Whatever.”  
  
Tense silence hung in the air. After the initial shock, guilt washed over Steve in a flood of heat. But he couldn’t find the energy to apologize. He lay in his cot until Kristan’s breathing had evened out, signifying that she was asleep. Then he pulled his chair over to the cot and climbed into the seat. He fumbled with the zipper that connected the tent flaps, glanced back to make sure Kristan was still asleep, then wheeled out into the camp.  
  
A few people still sat around the fire, watching the dying flames. The night air was cool and crisp. Steve wheeled up to the fire without a word. As he gazed into the fire, he thought of the nights when he had huddled around the fire with the other soldiers, shivering in the frozen air. Cold blackness had surrounded them for miles, enveloping the frozen trees and brambly twigs. The desert had been eerily silent, as if it were smothered by the snow.  
  
“You okay there, Steve?” said a woman crouched by the fire.  
  
“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said.  
  
She nodded and threw a handful of twigs on the fire. The fire shot up over the twigs and engulfed them, the leaves curling and the wood blackening before they eventually crumbled to ash.  
  
\---  
  
Tom’s hands flashed across the keyboard as he typed data into the computer. The green cursor flashed on the screen. He glanced at the list on the billing sheet, punched in the data, hit the enter key. His movements were automatic, almost robotic. Despite the heating vent near the ceiling, a chill hung in the office. Karen sat in front of his desk, bundled up in her coat.  
  
“Boy, it’s chilly in here,” Karen said. “Don’t you ever think about calling the maintenance people and telling them to fix the heat?”  
  
“I did,” Tom said. “Apparently, my office isn’t one of their top priorities.”  
  
“Well, that’s stupid,” Karen said. “It’s people like you that keep things running around here.”  
  
Tom grunted. “I know,” he said. Suddenly the phone rang. Still typing with one hand, he punched the _Line 1_ button and tucked the phone against his shoulder. “Dead Pegasus Corporation,” he said.  
  
“This is Jennifer Glass from the District Five Department of Energy,” she said. “I need to see how much biodiesel fuel you have available. We’re looking to transport three trucks of supplies across four districts.”  
  
“Certainly,” he said. “What's the serial number?”  
  
“A-9810.”  
  
He typed the number into the computer. When he hit the enter key, the console beeped. His brow creased in confusion. He asked her to repeat the number, then typed it again. The screen beeped again. He tried to move the cursor, but it had stopped flashing. Tom held back a sigh. The screen was frozen.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “My computer’s glitching. I’ll have to run down to the warehouse and get the count for you.”  
  
“That’s fine. I’ll be waiting.”  
  
He punched the _Hold_ button and stood up. Karen jumped out of her seat, grinning as he fetched the keys from his desk. “Can I go down there?” she said. “Am I allowed?”  
  
“You can, but don’t expect much,” he said. “They’re all a bunch of idiots.”  
  
He locked his office door, then marched down the corridor and took the stairs to the warehouse. When he opened the doors, they were greeted with the sounds of grinding machinery. A forklift carried a pallet of oil drums down one of the aisles. Tom grabbed a phone attached to a metal post.  
  
“One of you, call 366,” he said, his voice broadcasting over the intercom.  
  
Trickles of laughter rose from the warehouse floor. The forklift stopped and a teenage girl jumped out. She grabbed the nearest phone. “ _Well, hello there, Tom_ ,” she said in a falsely formal voice. Her friends gathered around her, giggling.  
  
“I need you to check inventory,” Tom said coldly. “It’s biodiesel fuel. Serial number A-9810. Do you need to write it down?”  
  
“ _No, I don’t believe I do, Tom_ ,” she said in the same overly formal voice.  
  
“Then go find it,” he said. “See how many we have.”  
  
“ _Of course, Tom_ ,” she said. “ _Is there anything else I can do for you while you’re here?_ ”  
  
“No. Just find the barrels.”  
  
“ _Of course, Tom_ ,” she said. “ _It would be an honor to serve you._ ”  
  
Tom hung up. The girl hurried down one of the aisles, her friends trailing behind her. Their laughter rang out through the warehouse. Tom folded his arms and waited. After five minutes, he grabbed the phone again.  
  
“Marcy, call 366,” he said sharply.  
  
After a few moments, the phone rang. “ _Hello again, Tom_ ,” Marcy said.  
  
“Did you find the barrels?” he said.  
  
“ _Why, yes, I believe I have._ ”  
  
“How many are there?” he said impatiently.  
  
The group snickered in the aisle. “ _Wait_ ,” Marcy said, suddenly dropping the formal voice. “ _Which barrels did you want?_ ”  
  
“The biodiesel fuel! A-9810!”  
  
“ _Oh_ ,” Marcy said. “ _Hang on._ ”  
  
She hung up. Gritting his teeth, Tom stormed over to the aisles and searched the rows of barrels until he found the biodiesel fuel. The laughter of Marcy and her friends followed him all the way back to the warehouse doors. He stormed back to his office, gave Ms. Glass the supply number, then slammed the phone in the receiver.  
  
“I'm reporting them,” he said. “All of them. None of these idiots know what the hell they’re doing. They fool around the warehouse all day and fuck everything up for the rest of us.”  
  
“You’re totally right,” Karen said, grabbing her purse. “I agree, sweetheart, but I’ve gotta get back to work. I’ll call you tonight, okay? Let me know how it goes.”  
  
She grabbed his shoulders and kissed him. He stiffened.  
  
“Oh, Tom,” Karen sighed. “You're so _touchy_.”  
  
After his shift, Tom walked down to the butcher shop. Before he left that morning, his mother had asked him to pick up a soup bone. The shop was empty except for an elderly woman sitting on a bench. Tom rang the bell. No one appeared behind the counter. He sighed and rang the bell again, then peered inside the glass case. Small cuts of meat were laid out under the fluorescent lights.  
  
The butcher suddenly stuck her head out of the back door. “It’ll be just a minute, hon,” she said, then closed the door again.  
  
Tom raised a hand in acknowledgement, then straightened. As he waited at the counter, he thought of the engagement ring that he was beginning to pay off. In a few months, he’d be able to propose. And once he and Karen were married, he could finally afford to move out of his mother’s apartment. Just the thought alone gave him a sense of relief. He felt like he were clawing his way out of a dark cave.  
  
“Did you just get off work, son?”  
  
He turned around. The elderly woman was inching over to him, gripping her cane. Tom looked down and realized that the Dead Pegasus ID card was still clipped to his suit.  
  
“Yes ma’am,” he said.  
  
“You work for that oil company?”  
  
“Yes, I do,” he said. “I’ve worked there since I was fifteen.”  
  
“And how old are you now?”  
  
“I’ll be seventeen in December.”  
  
“You’re quite young,” she said. “I thought you were older.”  
  
He laughed. “I get that a lot,” he said.  
  
The woman leaned against her cane. Her hands shook as if she were shivering.  
  
“You’re lucky to be so young,” she said. “If you were just a little bit older, you would’ve been drafted in the wars.”  
  
“Well, I was twelve when the wars broke out,” Tom said. “Hardly old enough to be drafted.”  
  
“Still. They were losing men left and right. I heard that they were talking about drafting men as young as fourteen.”  
  
The calm expression dropped from Tom’s face. A shiver passed over him as he thought about how close he’d been to serving in the wars.  
  
“I don’t believe that,” he said after a moment.  
  
“I don’t know if it’s true,” she said. “It was just talk I heard. But it wouldn’t surprise me. I heard all kinds of stories in that old veteran camp.”  
  
“Are you a veteran?” Tom said.  
  
“Yes, I am,” she said. “But not of the Analog Wars. I was a head nurse in the Helium Wars back in the 60s.”  
  
“Well, thank you for your service,” Tom said.  
  
She laughed. “You’re welcome,” she said. “But I don’t think you were around then.”  
  
“My mother was,” Tom said without thinking.  
  
“Was she? Well, she’d have to be, to have a son your age.”  
  
Tom nodded. A shadow had passed over his face.  
  
“I do miss the old camp,” the woman said after a moment. “It wasn’t a big camp, mind you, but we all knew each other. There were veterans from both wars. And there was this sense of camaraderie, it was like nothing I’d ever seen before. You could tell anyone anything, and they’d listen. I don’t think you find that here, even among the other vets.”  
  
“There’s an Amvets post in District Two,” Tom said.  
  
“I know,” she said. “I’ve been there. But it’s not the same. In the old camp, we’d hold these bonfires, and people would come from all over the area to join in. You met people from all across the desert.”  
  
For the first time, Tom appeared interested. “How many people were in the desert?” he said.  
  
“Oh, quite a few,” she said. “Some of the bigger communities had upwards of a hundred people.”  
  
He raised his eyebrows. “A hundred people?” he said. “Just in one community?”  
  
“Oh, yes,” she said. “The desert’s not as empty as the city leads you to believe. There’s probably a few thousand people, at least.”  
  
The back door swung open and they both looked up. The butcher marched up to the counter. “Sorry about that, hon,” she said. “What can I get for you?”  
  
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” the woman said to Tom. “You live in this area?”  
  
“Yes, I do,” he said.  
  
“I’ll probably see you around, then. So long.”  
  
She patted him on the shoulder. Tom watched as she shakily headed for the door. With a sudden burst of inspiration, he hurried over to the entrance and held the door open. She looked at him in surprise.  
  
“Thank you, son,” she said.  
  
“You’re welcome,” he said. The woman stepped outside and started off down the sidewalk, leaving faint footprints in the dusting of snow on the concrete.


	3. Chapter 3

**1994**  
  
Kristan flipped the power switch. The radio equipment in the tent hummed to life, lights blinking and meters whirring. She strapped on a pair of headphones. “This is DJ Hot Chimp, broadcasting to you live from WK9X,” she said. “We’re serving up the hottest news, the freshest tunes, and the best commentary you’ll find in Zone One. We’re going to start things off with a classic from Gearshift, then switch over to my man Steve X, who’ll bring you the latest news from Bat City and beyond.”  
  
She flipped through a crate of records, then pulled out a yellow sleeve. Steve dully read the newspaper while he waited for the song to end. When it was over, Kristan announced that it was time for the news, then handed him the microphone. _  
  
_ Steve cleared his throat. “Another food riot in District Three,” he said. “Not that it affects us much, I guess, but food prices’ll probably go up again. Dr. Miyamoto stepped down as Head Director of Better Living Industries last week…”  
  
After he read off the major headlines, Kristan played a few different records, then signed off. She grinned at Steve as she turned off the equipment. He tried to smile back.  
  
“I’ll put up more fliers when we hit Greenberry,” she said. “Meiko thinks we’ll probably have ten or fifteen listeners by the end of the week.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Steve said.  
  
“Yeah. Maybe we’ll even be able to take callers. Do some requests.”  
  
“Don’t think they’ll have much to choose from,” Steve said.  
  
“Hey, we’ve got plenty,” Kristan said. “I’ve got a whole crateful of records. That’s more than most people have.”  
  
Steve didn’t argue. After she packed up the equipment, they said goodbye to the other campers and started the car. A few weeks ago, a scavenger who stayed briefly at their camp had told them about a town several miles away. Greenberry had been built in the old days. In the years after the wars, it had been a home for drifters, until a camp settled in and started a permanent community. The town did trade with Battery City and even sold city supplies in the local store.  
  
Kristan drove for half an hour, then turned left when they came to the old gas station that the scavenger had mentioned. The main building had been dismantled for scrap; all that remained was the towering _Gas-N-Go_ sign and the awning that had once covered the gas pumps, like a strange monument. She drove for a few more miles until buildings started to appear on the horizon. As she drove through the town, her breath caught in her throat. Even Steve straightened in his seat.  
  
Old buildings lined either side of the highway, some still standing with the original bricks, others repaired with fresh concrete and wood. The occasional car or motorcycle was parked in front of the buildings. Smoke puffed from a narrow chimney. A generator hummed somewhere nearby. Two women walked out of the store, casually swinging their bags of supplies as if they’d been shopping for expensive clothes in the city.  
  
“Oh, wow,” Kristan said. “I can’t believe this, Steve. It looks just like a town from the old days.”  
  
“Well, the city fixed it up,” Steve said. “I’m sure it didn’t look like this before they got here.”  
  
“I know, but still. Look at this, Steve. They’ve got a generator. I haven’t seen a real generator in ages.”  
  
She parked next to a Better Living truck that was parked in front of the store. When she stepped inside, an airy smile spread across her face. Rows of canned food stood on the shelves. Herbs and dried vegetables hung from the ceiling. A jar on the counter was filled with beef jerky. She turned the magazine rack, which was lined with recent publications from the city.  
  
“Oh, wow,” she said lightly. “It’s like being back in the city.”  
  
“You looking for anything in particular?” said the woman behind the desk. Her curly hair was tied back in a bandana.  
  
“No ma’am,” Kristan said. “We’re just looking.”  
  
“Well, let me know if you need anything,” she said. She winked and made a clicking sound with her tongue. “I’m Maggie. I’ll be here all day.”  
  
Kristan thanked her, then headed over to a basket of fabrics. Steve wheeled around the store, stopping at a stack of wicker baskets, a glass case of medicine, a row of Dead Pegasus fuel cans. He slowly turned the magazine rack. The glossy covers caught the sunlight.  
  
“How do you manage to do this?” Steve said to Maggie, who was tying bundles of herbs at the desk.  
  
“Do what now?” she said.  
  
“Sell these supplies. Is there some kind of deal with the city?”  
  
“I call them, tell them what we need, have the money delivered to the city,” she said. “They drop it off about once a month. There’s a fellow from Dead Pegasus who comes by with the fuel cans, too.”  
  
“You ever think they’re trying to move in out here?” Steve said. “Get their foot in the door?”  
  
“I don’t know about that,” Maggie said. “I think they’re just trying to help us folks out here who don’t have much.”  
  
Steve nodded, but his expression was skeptical. He pulled one of the newspapers out of the rack. The headline read _Draculoids Stop Riot in District Three: Twelve Injured.  
  
_ After Kristan paid for the supplies, they climbed into the car and started back to the camp. Kristan smiled faintly and hummed to herself. A plastic bag of food and clothing was wedged between the seats, the plastic rustling in the wind.  
  
“God, I love this place,” Kristan said. “I wouldn’t complain if they let us move in here.”  
  
“I’m not sure if I would,” Steve said.  
  
“Yeah? Why not?”  
  
“I don’t trust this,” Steve said. “The city moving in. Interfering with our business.”  
  
“I don’t think they’re interfering,” Kristan said. “They’re just doing trade out here. People do it all the time.”  
  
“Not to this level,” Steve said.  
  
Kristan glanced over at him, but didn’t respond. Steve set his jaw and turned to the window. A rolled-up newspaper poked out of the plastic bag, the headlines printed in bold black-and-white like a warning.  
_  
_ \---  
  
Tom stormed down the apartment steps and burst out into the street, a leather suitcase swinging from his hand. Ignoring Anne Marie’s shouts, he strode down the sidewalk, past the rows of parked cars, the streetlights, a restaurant blaring music through its doors. Anne Marie’s footsteps pounded on the sidewalk behind him. He ducked under a clothesline and cut through an alleyway, his heart pounding as if he were being chased by a Draculoid.  
  
“Tom, you don’t know what you’re doing!” Anne Marie said.  
  
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” he said. He darted through a crosswalk and marched down the other side of the street. The wind whipped his suit around his frame.  
  
“You think you know anything about the desert?” she said. “You’ve never set foot in the desert!”  
  
“I’ve been to the Zones,” he said.  
  
“You’ve been on business trips!” she said. “You’ve been to gas stations! You don’t know the first thing about it, Tom!”  
  
He turned around momentarily. “Mother, whatever happened to you in the desert, it was two decades ago,” he said. “They’re rebuilding the Zones. I’ve seen it.”  
  
“I don’t care!” she said. “You might think you’re safe, but what happens when you step foot outside their settlements? What happens if you get lost? Do you think everyone in the Zones comes from the city?”  
  
When he didn’t respond, she reached out and grabbed his arm. He frantically pulled away. “Tom,” Anne Marie said. “Please.”  
  
“I can’t stay here,” he said.  
  
“There’s no reason you can’t! I’ve got plenty of room, you can stay with me. You don’t have to go tearing off to the desert just because you got divorced.”  
  
He laughed harshly. “The divorce is the least of my concerns,” he said.  
  
“Tom, wait!” she cried when he took off again. He hurried down the sidewalk, past the towering apartment units, the grocery store decorated with ivy, the seafood market with silvery fish flashing in their tanks. Cars sped down the highway, their engines rumbling. When he stopped at a street corner, she reached for him again. He jumped back, his eyes wide.  
  
“Tom,” she said. “Don’t do this. Please.”  
  
He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands.  
  
“I know I never told you much about what happened to me, but—you don’t know what’s waiting out there for you. You’ve seen what it did to me, Tom. Please don’t do this to yourself.”  
  
For a moment, his expression wavered. Then he shook his head.  
  
“I’ll call you,” he said. “Keep your radio out.”  
  
She started to protest, but he turned and darted across the street. The wind whipped against his face. He ran for a few blocks, then slowed to a walk until he reached the Department of Transportation. After he bought a ticket at the window, he headed to the pay phone. Several people waited at the benches, clutching their suitcases or reading newspapers. A bus slowed to a halt outside the doors.  
  
Tom dialed the number that he had memorized years ago. “Hello?” he said. “Yes, this is Tom Curschmann. I’m calling to let you know that I’m at the bus station.”  
  
“ _Are you still going to Greenberry?_ ” the secretary said.  
  
“Yes ma’am,” he said. “I’ll be leaving in half an hour.”  
  
“ _If you’re going out there, there’s something you should know_ ,” she said. “ _Roberts said we won’t be able to make the delivery this week._ ”  
  
He stopped. “Are you kidding me?” he said.  
  
“ _I’m so sorry_ ,” she said. “ _They lost power at the hospital this morning. We had to send them fuel to power their backup generators_.”  
  
“When can I expect the delivery?” he said, silently cursing.  
  
“ _Maybe in two weeks_ ,” she said. “ _I’m so sorry. We’ve already contacted Greenberry and told them what’s going on._ ”  
  
He sighed and leaned his head against the wall. “All right,” he said. “Thank you. Goodbye.”    
  
He hung up the phone, then sank down on one of the benches. Dead Pegasus had agreed to let him sell supplies to the locals. But if they couldn’t make the delivery to the border, that left him without a source of income for at least a week. He rubbed the back of his neck, his mind racing.  
  
“Where are you headed, son?” said the woman next to him.  
  
“I’m headed to Greenberry,” he said.  
  
“That desert town?” she said. “You going on a business trip or something?”  
  
“I’m moving there,” he said.  
  
She laughed. “You?” she said. “A skinny little worker like you? Good luck out there, kiddo.”  
  
Tom stared at her. “That’s very reassuring,” he said.  
  
She chuckled, fanning herself with a flier. He shook his head and turned away. Suddenly an idea struck him. He stood up and walked over to the brochure rack, then unfolded one of the maps. Battery City, Zone One, and Zone Two were marked along with the major buildings and highways. He grabbed a handful of maps and stuffed them in his suitcase.  
  
“You think you’re going to need a lot of maps, son?” the woman said.  
  
“I’m going to sell them,” Tom said. “I’m sure they’re more valuable in the Zones than they are here.”  
  
“Yeah. Okay.”  
  
Ignoring her, he scanned the room, thinking hard. Goods that came cheap in Battery City would probably be marked up in the desert. The people who lived in Greenberry could buy from the local store, but outsiders didn’t have that luxury. He tucked the bus ticket inside his jacket, then started for the entrance.  
  
“You leaving already?” the woman said.  
  
“I’ll be back,” he said. “I’m just running over to the gas station.”  
  
He stepped outside, waving off the stench of exhaust smoke from the bus, and hurried to the gas station across the street. Lights glowed from within as if it were welcoming him. After waiting in line for twenty minutes, he ran back to the bus station, stuffing the plastic bag of purchases in his suitcase. Matchbooks, candles, scissors, thread—they were common in the city, but he had a feeling they would be a rarity in certain parts of the Zones.  
  
He reached the bus just as the doors hissed open. When he handed over the ticket, the bus driver smiled at him. He nodded in return, then took a seat next to one of the dusty windows. A handful of people filed inside, talking quietly. One of the men had burn scars across his arms. Most of the people carried light luggage, as if they were just stopping in the Zones for a visit. Tom wondered if their family lived there.  
  
“Everyone ready?” the bus driver said. “All right. Eight A.M. to Zone One.”  
  
The doors sealed shut and the bus lurched forward. Tom closed his eyes and gripped the suitcase. The city flashed past the windows, light glinting off the street signs and store windows, the billboards bleaching in the sun.


	4. Chapter 4

**1995  
  
** Steve sighed as he turned the knob on the radio. Static, more static, blurry static, a snippet of _The Star-Spangled Banner,_ static, hissing static, crackly static. Before she left, Kristan had asked him to check the radio waves for any sign of new stations. Pinned to the map above the radio equipment was a list of frequencies where she’d heard broadcasts. But after a few days, they always went silent. He switched off the radio and wheeled into the kitchen. Aside from the thin light through the window curtains, the house was dark. He fumbled around the kitchen cabinet for the watering can, cursing in the shadows.  
  
He pushed back the curtains above the sink. A row of potted herbs sat in the windowsill. As Steve watered the plants, a car engine rumbled outside. At first, he didn’t look up. But the engine was quieter than Kristan’s roaring Camaro. He peered outside to see a beat-up white Mustang that looked like it had once belonged to the city pulling up to the house. _Shit,_ he thought. He stashed the watering can under the sink, then wheeled up to the door and waited for the inevitable knock.  
  
There was a knock on the door. When Steve opened it, a man who appeared to be in his early 20s stood in the doorway. His suit hung loosely off his frame. His dark hair had been combed back, but strands were starting to come loose in the wind.  
  
“All right, what do you want?” Steve said.  
  
“Excuse me?” the man said.  
  
“What did I do to piss the city off this time?” Steve said. “Are you mad because I didn’t renew my info?”  
  
The man looked away and laughed, almost to himself. “I’m not from the city,” he said. “I mean, I am from the city, but I’m not representing the city today. I live near Greenberry. I’m a salesman.”  
  
“Yeah?” Steve said. “Well, we don’t need anything. My friend just left to get supplies.”  
  
“Actually, I heard that you have some old military equipment.”  
  
“You interested in buying?”  
  
“I am.”  
  
Steve thought for a moment. “I don’t think there’s anything I could give you,” he said.  
  
“No old tents, jackets, canteens? Backpacks? Compasses?”  
  
“Kid, I don’t know what you want with this shit.”  
  
“It’s profitable,” he said. “I sold an old military shovel for eight carbons last week.”  
  
“I don’t have any shovels,” Steve said.  
  
“What about other tools? Pocketknives, flashlights?”  
  
“How about my old military rifle?”  
  
“Get it out. I’ll look at it.”  
  
Steve laughed shortly. “I was joking,” he said. “Believe me. I wouldn’t sell that to you even if I wanted to.”  
  
He backed up a little and gazed inside the house. Dust specks swirled in the shaft of light from the window. Finally, he nodded and gestured for the man to step forward. “All right, come in,” he said with a hint of resignation. “I think there’s something I can give you.”  
  
Steve wheeled over to the closet and grabbed a flashlight. He rummaged through tattered cardboard boxes that held old books, rusty gardening tools, piles of clothes, rolled-up blankets. Ancient magazines were stacked in the back, nearly crusted together from grime. Occasionally he turned and coughed from the thick dust. When he shined the flashlight on the bottom shelf, the light glinted off a jumble of plastic packages.  
  
“Get that box on the floor, will you?” Steve said. “I can't reach it.”  
  
The man crouched down and hauled the box out of the closet. When he saw what was inside, his eyes widened. He picked up one of the packages and held it reverently as if he were holding a Bible. The package was stamped with the words _Meal Ready-to-Eat, Individual._  
  
“How long have you had these?” the man said.  
  
“I’ve had them ever since I left the veterans’ camp,” Steve said. “They told Kristan and I to take a bunch of them. But she hates them, and I can’t stand the taste at this point.”  
  
“How much do you want for them?”  
  
Steve chuckled. “Just take them,” he said.  
  
The man stared at him. “I can’t take these,” he said.  
  
“Just take them. Trust me. I’m not going to need them.”  
  
The man dropped the package in the box and stood up. “I can’t afford to pay for these now,” he said. “But I can make a deal.”  
  
“Kid, don’t worry about making any deals,” Steve said. “Just take them.”  
  
“I work with Dead Pegasus,” the man said. “I’m contracted to sell their products in the Zones. I’m out of stock now, but I can bring you fuel until I’ve paid off the cost of the MREs.”  
  
“For God’s sake, man,” Steve said. “You don’t owe me anything. We barely know each other.”  
  
“I can’t take these for free,” he said.  
  
“What?” Steve said. “You think I’m going to come back and ask you for a favor? I promise you, that’s not going to happen.”  
  
The man didn’t respond. He simply looked at him. Steve thought of the fuel that Kristan needed for her mechanical projects, and he sighed.  
  
“All right,” he said. “Fine. We’ll take the fuel.”  
  
“Excellent,” the man said. “Can I get your call number?”  
  
Steve gave him the call number for Kristan’s transmitter. The man held out his hand. At first Steve looked at him oddly, then realized he was offering to shake hands. He grabbed his hand and shook it.  
  
“Tom Curschmann,” the man said. “Call W2PX if you need anything.”  
  
“Steve Montano,” Steve said. “You’ve got our number.”  
  
“You’ll hear from me in a couple of days,” Tom said. “Three, at the latest.”  
  
Steve followed him to the doorway and watched as he carried the box of MREs to his car. When he closed the trunk, Steve felt a vague, tingling anxiety. Something seemed to have been ripped from the house, as if the MREs had been stolen from him. When Tom drove away, Steve shook his head and wheeled back inside the house, closing the curtains and locking the door behind him.  
  
A week later, Tom pulled up to the house and stepped out of the car with a cardboard box in his arms. A woman with straight blonde hair was perched on the roof, fiddling with what looked like a radio antenna. When she heard the car pull up, she turned and climbed down the ladder. “Excuse me,” she said. “Who are you?”  
  
“Tom Curschmann,” he said, offering his hand to shake. “I’m a salesman. I talked to Steve last week about the old MREs he’d been storing here.”  
  
“Oh!” Kristan said. “Right. I know who you are. Are you here to give us the fuel?”  
  
“Yes ma’am,” Tom said. Inside the box were six cans of Dead Pegasus fuel. Kristan picked up one of the cans and studied the back, then invited him inside, grinning excitedly.   
  
Steve sat at the kitchen table, grinding old mesquite beans into flour. The window cast a square of light across the table. “Hey, kid,” Steve said. “Got the fuel?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Tom said. He laid the box on the table. “I’ll be receiving another shipment in two weeks. When I do, I’ll bring you another six cans, and we’ll call it even.”  
  
“Sounds fine to me,” Steve said. There was a tired edge to his voice. “You want to sit down for a few minutes? Have you been running all day?”  
  
“Actually, I was thinking you should show him more of your old military stuff,” Kristan said.  
  
“I’m not getting rid of that,” Steve said.  
  
“Steve. Come on. You’ve had it for ages, and you don’t even like looking at it. You’ve got it all locked away in the bottom drawer.”  
  
“That doesn’t mean I’m getting rid of it,” he said.  
  
“What about the old equipment? Like that gas mask. You know you’re never going to use that again.”  
  
“You have a gas mask?” Tom said.  
  
“Yup, he does,” Kristan said. “Great quality. No damage at all.”  
  
Steve sighed. “Kristan, for the last time, I’m not giving it away,” he said.  
  
“I’m not asking you to give it away,” she said. “I just want you to sell off what you’re not going to use. I don’t want you clinging to this stuff forever.”  
  
“Trust me, I won’t be,” Steve muttered.  
  
Kristan looked at him oddly, but she said “Steve. Come on. Just give him a few things. You’ll help him make a living.” She took the bowl of grinded beans from him and nodded toward the bedroom. “Go on. Follow him in there, Tom. See what he’s got.”  
  
Steve sighed and wheeled into the bedroom. He pushed back the burlap curtains to bring light into the room, then opened the last dresser drawer. At the sight of the old equipment, he suddenly felt slow and heavy, as if time had slowed to a slog around him. He picked up a bulky transmitter and ran a thumb across the plastic casing. Tom waited silently behind him.  
  
“I guess you can have the gas mask,” Steve said finally. “I don’t think I’ll be needing it in the foreseeable future.”  
  
Tom turned the mask around in his hands. “How much do you want for it?” he said.  
  
“Just take it,” Steve said.  
  
“You know I can’t do that.”  
  
“Fine. Throw in another can of fuel. I don’t care.”  
  
Steve searched under a pile of old shirts and jackets until he unearthed a crusty plastic box. “Here’s an old war relic,” he said. “I think it’s a first-aid kit or something. _Vur-band-cas-tin_ ,” he read clumsily from the label.  
  
“ _Verbandkasten_ ,” Tom said. “Yes. It’s a first-aid kit.”  
  
Steve looked at him. “You speak German?” he said.  
  
“I am German,” he said.  
  
Steve raised his eyebrows, then slowly closed the drawer. “All right, kid, a word of advice,” he said. “Don’t go around telling people that you’re German.”  
  
“Does it bother you?” Tom said.  
  
“No, it doesn’t bother me, but I can tell you that some people out here wouldn’t take it too well,” Steve said. “There was an old racist asshole at the veterans’ camp who said—and I’m quoting here—that he’d cut down every kraut he saw in the Zones.”  
  
A disconcerted look crossed Tom’s face. “He can’t do that,” he said. “This isn’t a war zone.”  
  
“I’m not trying to scare you,” Steve said. “I’m just telling you to be on guard. People do the same shit with the Russians. Of course, they’ve been getting shit since the Helium Wars, so that’s nothing new.”  
  
On Steve’s instruction, Tom hauled a battered suitcase out from under one of the beds. Steve unlocked it and opened it. Inside were tattered, yellowed military papers, a battered uniform, folded clothes, a pocketknife, a compass. Steve rubbed the lower half of his face with his hand. “I don’t think I can give any of this away,” he said. “Actually—hang on.” He picked up a small device the size of a matchbox. “You ever see one of these?”  
  
Steve placed the device in Tom’s hand. The tiny meter pointed to the green end of the spectrum. Instructions were printed on the casing: travel when the readout was green, have limited exposure when it was amber, take cover when it was red.  
  
“A radiation tester?” Tom said.  
  
“Yup. We all had one of those when I was in the wars.” As he closed the suitcase, Steve said “You might want to hang on to that. It’s a hell of a lot easier than hauling around one of the big ones.”  
  
“Does it still work?” Tom said.  
  
“I haven’t tested it in a while, but I don’t see why it wouldn’t. Just pop in a new battery.”  
  
“Thank you,” he said, closing his hand over it.  
  
“Eh, don’t thank me,” Steve said, dropping the suitcase under the bed. “I think everyone should carry one of those around.”  
  
When they returned to the kitchen, Kristan sat at the table, writing on the back of a flier. She looked up and grinned. “Hey!” she said. “Looks like you’re getting rid of some of it.”  
  
“That’s as much as I could part with,” Steve said. He wheeled up to the table and reached for the bowl of mesquite beans. “He said he’ll throw in a couple of extra cans of fuel.”  
  
“Actually, I had a different idea,” Kristan said. “Tom, do you hit all the major markets around here?”  
  
“Yes ma’am,” he said.  
  
“Do you think you could find this equipment for me?” she said. “I’m not asking you to go out of your way, but when you go to the markets, maybe keep an eye out, you know?”  
  
She handed him the flier. He scanned the list of radio equipment. “I’ll keep an eye out,” he said. “I can’t make any promises, but yes. I’ll look for it.”  
  
“Thank you so much,” she said. “I’ve been looking around, but I can’t make it to half these markets, and I don’t think people take me seriously when I call them.”  
  
“I’m telling you, it’s the name,” Steve said. “DJ Hot Chimp. No one’s going to take that seriously.”  
  
“Oh, shush,” Kristan said.  
  
After they shook hands and thanked Tom, he left with the old military equipment. Kristan smiled at Steve from across the table. He continued grinding the beans with the pestle, even though they were completely crushed into flour.  
  
“Steve, I’m so glad you’re starting to get rid of it,” she said.  
  
“I just gave him a few things,” Steve said. “Don’t think I’m going to start hauling out everything.”  
  
“I know,” she said. “I just don’t want it hovering over you the rest of your life.”  
  
Steve didn’t respond. She smiled sadly at him, then stood up and fetched the watering can from under the sink.  
  
\--- **  
**  
The wind whipped through Kristan’s hair as she drove down the highway, beads rattling on the rearview mirror. The magazines and fliers scattered across the dashboard wavered in the wind. Steve tried to focus on a yellowed paperback that he’d bought at Maggie’s store a week ago. After trying to re-read the same passage several times, he shook his head.  
  
“God, this is terrible,” he said. “Look at this. I can barely read anything.”  
  
He held the book open so Kristan could see the dark stain spread across the print. She clicked her tongue and shook her head.  
  
“Next time I see her, I’m asking for my money back,” Steve said. “This is ridiculous.”  
  
“Maybe we’ll see if Tom can get his hands on some books,” Kristan said.  
  
“Eh, we’ve got tons of books at the house,” Steve said. “The problem is that I always throw them in the closet and forget about them.”  
  
He closed the book and tossed it on the dashboard, then watched the desert roll past the windows. Prickly grasses and shrubs dotted the sand, with rocky hills sloping in the distance. A smear of paint slashed the trunk of a Joshua tree like a ribbon. The sky was bright blue, stretching above the desert like a canopy.  
  
A few minutes later, they reached a faded red strip motel perched on the side of the highway. A dusty sign read _DESERT STAR MOTEL_. The roof was thin and flat like a sheet of aluminum. Kristan knocked on the door marked with a bronze _3._ When there was no answer, she knocked again. Kristan frowned and looked around the parking lot.  
  
“Is he out?” she said.  
  
“His car’s still here,” Steve said. “Maybe he’s out back.”  
  
They headed into the office, where a woman was polishing silverware behind the desk. The smell of vinegar filled the room. “Morning,” the woman said without looking up.  
  
“Good morning,” Kristan said. “We’re looking for Tom? Tom Curschmann?”  
  
“Who?” the woman said.  
  
“He lives here, right? The salesman?”  
  
“Oh, him.” The woman jerked her head toward the back wall. “Last time I saw him, he was heading out back.”  
  
They headed around the back of the motel. Tom was crouched in front of a water pump that jutted out of the grass. He had removed his jacket and was washing the collar in a bucket of water. When he looked up, Kristan clamped a hand over her mouth. Steve sucked in his breath.  
  
“Jesus, kid, what happened to you?” Steve said.  
  
Tom shook his head, wincing as he climbed to his feet. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. The bridge of his nose was bruised. Blood stained his shirt collar. He slipped the jacket back on and adjusted the sleeves, then picked up the bucket of water.  
  
“Tom, you’re walking funny,” Kristan said.  
  
“Yeah, what the hell happened?” Steve said. “Did you get cracked in the ribs?”  
  
“It was just a bad business deal,” Tom said. “Negotiations went south. It’s not important.”  
  
“Tom, your face is all bruised up. I’d say it’s pretty damn important.”  
  
Tom shook his head, then unlocked the back door and led them inside the motel room. The lights were off. He opened the curtains, casting light into the room, then laid the bucket on the dresser next to a tiny TV set. The screen was dusty as if it hadn’t been used in years. Steve noticed a bloody rag perched on the sink in the bathroom.  
  
“Is that it?” Kristan said, nodding toward a cardboard box beside the closet. When he nodded, she quickly hauled it onto the bed so he wouldn’t have to bend over. Tom winced as he sank into a chair in front of the dresser. His dark hair was matted with sweat.  
  
“Tom, you need to get your ass to a medic,” Steve said.  
  
Tom shook his head and waved a hand dismissively. “Is that everything you needed?” he said to Kristan.  
  
Kristan sorted through the box of equipment: monitors, speakers, twisted cables, meters and knobs and dials. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “This is most of it. Tom, why don’t you let us drive you to the medic?”  
  
“I can’t afford it,” he said.  
  
“We’ll cover it,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”  
  
“I don’t think you understand how expensive it is for someone like me to go to the medic,” he said. “I work with the city. That means I don’t get the reduced price like you two would. If I go, they’re going to charge me the full cost.”  
  
“And what’s that?” Kristan said.  
  
He laughed shortly. “Much more than I can afford right now.”  
  
“Hey, we’ll talk to them,” Steve said. “We know the people who work there. We both get check-ups there every couple of months.”  
  
Tom shook his head. “It’s how the system works,” he said. “I believe it’s tied back to the city.”  
  
They argued with him until he received a call on his transmitter about a shipment of candles he’d ordered. Steve and Kristan reluctantly headed for the door. Before they left, Steve saw him unscrew a bottle of pills and gulp down two painkillers. He winced as he walked across the room, as if pain were shooting through his chest.  
  
“I don’t like this,” Steve said when Kristan started the car. “I think we need to get a medic over there.”  
  
“How much do you think it’s going to be?” she said.  
  
“I don’t know, but we’ll find a way to cover it,” Steve said. “I don’t want this kid dying from a punctured lung.”  
  
Kristan handed him the military transmitter. “Call Anna,” she said. “She might be willing to lower the price for us.”  
  
Steve radioed the medic. By the time he’d convinced her to drop the price, he and Kristan had returned to the house. He ended the call at the kitchen table. While Kristan took plates down from one of the cabinets, Steve turned the dial to another frequency.  
  
“Who are you calling now?” she said, plugging in the hot plate.  
  
“I’m going to call Tom,” Steve said. “Make sure he’s okay.”  
  
Kristan smiled to herself. As she poured rice into a pot, Steve’s voice hung in the background, more lively than he’d sounded in weeks. She added water and stirred the rice, then opened the window above the sink, letting fresh air filter through the screen.  



	5. Chapter 5

**1997  
  
** “Rise and shine, it’s another beautiful morning in the Zones with DJ Hot Chimp and Dr. Death Defying,” Kristan said into the microphone. “Radiation levels are at a solid point-zero-nine in Zone One, but we’ve had thunderhead sightings about fifteen miles away, so get your shit done and get inside. In the meantime, we’re going to start things off with a new favorite from the city group Eye-Nineteen…”  
  
When the morning broadcast was over, they took turns heating their breakfasts over the hot plate. Kristan ate a cup of Better Living noodles, while Steve had a plate of fried tomatoes. Kristan filled a bucket with water and washed her hair in the kitchen, wringing it out like a dishrag. Steve grabbed a broom and swept sand off the floor. After she dried her hair, Kristan approached him with a sewing needle.  
  
“Give me your hand,” she said.  
  
He stretched out his hand. She fitted a glove onto his hand, then started sewing up one of the holes in the fabric. “Don't prick my hand again,” he said.  
  
“I won't,” she said. After a moment, she said “I think we should go to town today.”  
  
Steve groaned and leaned the broom against the table.  
  
“I'll bet the money's come in,” she said.  
  
“Who cares if it's come in,” Steve said.  
  
“I care,” she said. “When I’m done, throw on a jacket. I want to go grocery shopping.”  
  
“We don’t need to go shopping. We’re fine.”  
  
“Steve, we’re running out of everything. Come on. Go clean up and put on a jacket.”  
  
Steve groaned, but didn’t argue further. After he’d gotten dressed, they drove to the Greenberry post office. The walls were lined with slots like safety deposit boxes. Kristan dug the keys out of her bag. When she opened their slot, her face lit up. “It’s here!” she said. She took out a padded envelope marked with the Better Living logo. Inside were fifty carbons printed in neat bills.  
  
“Did they include the letter?” Steve said. Occasionally the Department of Veteran Affairs sent a letter with the payment, reminding Steve that he’d receive twice the disability money if he lived in Battery City.  
  
“Nope,” Kristan said. “Not this time.”  
  
After they bought groceries at Maggie’s store, they drove to the weekly market. The market was built in the shade of rocky bluffs that were streaked with shades of red. Tents, canopies, and blankets propped up on sticks shielded the owners from the sun’s glare. As they walked through the crowd, the goods glittered in the sunlight: glass bottles, shiny magazines, plates, water jugs, ceramic figures. Kristan stopped at a table of animal bones and picked up a rabbit skull.  
  
“How do you think this would look over the front doorway?” she said.  
  
Steve laughed. “I think it’d scare people off,” he said.  
  
“That’s the idea,” she said. She set the skull down and continued through the market. The wind ruffled stacks of old newspapers that were piled around an arrangement of paintings. Two children sat on the ground, playing with strips of paper. When Steve looked closer, he realized that they were old American dollars.  
  
“Do you see that?” he said.  
  
“See what?” Kristan said.  
  
“What those kids are playing with,” Steve said. “They shouldn’t be messing with those. If anything, they should probably be in a museum.”  
  
“Huh,” Kristan said. “I guess the parents didn’t think they were worth anything. My mom had a couple of old ten-dollar bills that she kept in her jewelry box.”  
  
“I knew a guy in the wars who had a twenty,” Steve said. “Wouldn’t say where he got it.”  
  
They stopped to look at wooden bracelets, homemade soap, old military tools, folded shirts from Battery City. The air was thick with heat and sweat. Flies buzzed around the tables. As Kristan tried on a fake opal ring, Steve caught a flash of white near a booth several feet away. He squinted through the crowd, but it was gone. But a few minutes later, a Draculoid emerged from the crowd and disappeared into one of the tents.  
  
“Did you see that?” Steve said. “There’s a Drac over there.”  
  
“A Drac? Really?”  
  
“Yeah. Just went into that tent.”  
  
Kristan craned her neck, but the Drac was gone. “There shouldn’t be Dracs around here,” she said. “I thought they all stayed in the city.”  
  
“Yeah. I don’t know. Maybe someone got caught with something illegal.”  
  
At noon, they bought grilled vegetable skewers from a vendor and ate outside the manager’s office. A fan whirred and a tiny TV buzzed inside the shack. As they watched the flow of people, the occasional Draculoid passed through the crowd. Kristan frowned as she fanned herself with a flier. Once she knocked on the door and asked the manager what was going on, but was told that it wasn’t important.  
  
“Do you think Tom’s here?” Steve said when Kristan closed the door.  
  
“He probably is,” she said. “Do you think he knows what’s going on?”  
  
“We better ask him. He probably knows better than anybody.”  
  
They searched the market until they found his car parked between a red tent and a table stacked with old books. The trunk was open, revealing a row of Dead Pegasus fuel cans, a stack of folded clothes, and a dozen Chinese takeout boxes. Tom stood in the shade cast by the tent. He wore a suit, despite the sweltering heat, but he looked unaffected.  
  
“Hey, kid,” Steve said. “What’s with the Chinese food?”  
  
Tom laughed. “It’s not Chinese food,” he said. He opened one of the boxes and held it out to him. The box was filled with soil. “I’m selling potted herbs. Three carbons a box.”  
  
“Did you get a deal on those boxes or something?”  
  
“Three cases,” he said. “Someone found a stash of them in an old warehouse. The sellers kept dropping the price. No one wanted them.”  
  
“Yeah?” Steve said. “Well, I’m glad you found them. Anyway, we wanted to ask you about something. What’s the deal all the Dracs around here?”  
  
“The Draculoids?” Tom said. “They’re confiscating medication. The city just made it illegal to sell it in the Zones.”  
  
“Are you serious?” Kristan said. “Why?”  
  
“They don’t think you should be able to take it if you don’t live in the city,” he said. “They’re taking all the Class A medication. Even people with special prescriptions won’t be able to get it unless they move to the city.”  
  
“Well, that’s bullshit,” Steve said. “I mean, I haven’t taken it in years, but I’ve known guys who needed it just to get through the day.”  
  
“I know,” Tom said. “I’m sure it’ll appear on the black market, but it’ll be twice the cost.”  
  
Suddenly he broke off. “ _Hört auf!”_ he said sharply. “ _Weg mit euch!”_  
  
A pair of children shrieked and dropped the fuel cans, then darted away like mice chased out by a broom. Tom shook his head as he lined the cans back up again.   
  
“Jesus, Tom,” Kristan said.  
  
“Well, they don't listen to me if I yell at them in English,” he said. “But yes, they’re cracking down on painkillers, too. Only licensed sellers are allowed to distribute them.”  
  
“They can’t regulate this shit,” Steve said. “They don’t operate out here.”  
  
“They’ve got enough sellers that work with the city,” Tom said. “If they start trouble, they could cut off the supply.”  
  
Steve looked back at Kristan incredulously, who shook her head in disbelief. “So that’s it, then?” Kristan said. “They can just pull whatever they want?”  
  
“I don’t think we have any other option,” Tom said. “If too many people complain, they could cut supplies off altogether.”  
  
Steve sighed and shook his head. As they weaved back through the market, the occasional Draculoid surfaced and flitted out of sight, like a fish hiding in seaweed.  
  
A few weeks later, Kristan sat at the kitchen table, flipping through the radio frequencies. Steve blew on a spoonful of noodles to cool them off. Hisses of static burst through the speakers. Kristan sighed and marked off another frequency in her notes.  
  
“I guess V6PY isn’t coming back,” she said.  
  
“They only had one broadcast, didn’t they?” Steve said. “Probably didn’t realize how much work it would be.”  
  
Kristan nodded as she searched through the waves. She looked up when she heard a snatch of music, but it was just _The Star-Spangled Banner_. She sighed and cradled her head in her hand. Half the frequencies on the list had been marked off in the past week. The few that remained had been silent for a few days, except for the channel that played the old national anthem twenty-four hours a day on repeat.  
  
“Maybe everyone’s shut down for the weekend,” Steve started to say, but Kristan suddenly shushed him. She turned the volume up. For the first time, a voice played from the speakers.  
  
“— _accessed Battery City HotSpot, the official Better Living channel_ ,” said a sterile female voice. “ _Our morning news broadcast begins at ten A.M. For a detailed list of programming, please visit batterycityhotspot.bli. You have accessed Battery City HotSpot…_ ”  
  
“Oh, no way,” Steve said. “They’re going to start broadcasting their shit out here now?”  
  
“Easier than trying to get our hands on a newspaper,” Kristan said.  
  
“Yeah, but they’re going to undercut your station. No one’s going to listen to us when they can just get news right from the city.”  
  
A concerned look crossed Kristan’s face, but she wrote down the frequency and underlined it. “Well, I guess we’ll tune in at ten,” she said. She resumed her search through the stations. “Please be active, please be active,” she said as she neared RX9Y. When she heard a voice through the speakers, she jumped in her seat and whooped, then stopped. It was the same sterile voice they’d heard a few minutes ago.  
  
“ _This channel has been temporarily suspended by Better Living Communications,”_ the recording said. “ _If you are the owner of this channel, please visit Station One, located eight miles west of Greenberry along Highway I-3. This channel has been temporarily suspended…”_  
  
“What the hell?” Steve said.  
  
Kristan checked two other frequencies, but they were blocked as well. When she checked her own station, the same recording played on the airwaves. “Shit,” she said, cradling her face in her hands. “What are we going to do?”  
  
“We better get down there and see what’s going on,” Steve said.  
  
“Do you think they’re going to make us pay a fee?” she said.  
  
“They better not,” Steve said. “This isn’t city territory. They don’t own these airwaves.”  
  
After breakfast, they drove to Station One, a small concrete building with a fresh coat of white paint. A radio antenna and satellite dish were mounted to the roof. Inside the building, the walls were lined with radio equipment, TV screens, maps, even a row of clocks that displayed different time zones. Employees monitored the equipment with a few Draculoids standing guard. A Japanese woman removed her headset and turned to Steve and Kristan.  
  
“Can I help you?” she said.  
  
“Yeah,” Kristan said. “We found out this morning that you’ve been blocking radio stations.”  
  
“It’s just temporary, ma’am,” the woman said. “The city passed a new law last night that requires all stations to register with us.”  
  
“Wait, hang on,” Steve said. “This isn’t Battery City. You don’t have that kind of control over us.”  
  
“Actually, Zone One is an extension of city territory,” the woman said. “We do trade out here, we run businesses, we send out supplies—and if I may be so bold, sir, I’m guessing you receive disability every month.”  
  
“Yeah, but the city owes it to me,” Steve muttered.  
  
“All right,” Kristan said. “Fine. How do I register?”  
  
“I’ll get the forms,” the woman said. She opened a drawer and took out a white form with yellow and pink copies stapled to the back. “The city requires you to read everything, fill out the information on the first page, and sign and date it. The fee is five carbons a month.”  
  
Steve and Kristan groaned simultaneously. “Five carbons a month?” Steve said. “Are you kidding me?”  
  
“We can’t afford that,” Kristan said. “I mean, I do some odd jobs around town, but it’s like you said. We live off disability.”  
  
“I’m afraid that’s the standard fee,” the woman said, straightening the forms. “If you don’t have the money now, you’re free to come back whenever you can afford it.”  
  
Steve sighed and shifted in his chair. “All right, so let me get this straight,” he said. “You’re expecting us to pay you for something that, until today, was completely free.”  
  
“Actually, sir, the airwaves were only free because the city allowed them to be free,” the woman said. “But thanks to recent abuse, the city was forced to crack down on the desert stations.”  
  
“What kind of abuse?” Steve said.  
  
“People were threatening the city, threatening each other, sending messages in code—”  
  
“Then why not just take out their stations? Why are you punishing all of us?”  
  
The woman sighed through her teeth. “Sir, the new laws require a certain level of quality control across all Better Living airwaves,” she said. “You can read the full report on the website. Is that it? Can I assist you with anything else?”  
  
“No, I think you’ve done enough today,” Steve muttered. Kristan glared at the woman before heading out the door, into the bright sunlight. The woman sighed and shook her head as she stuffed the forms back in the drawer.  
  
Kristan gripped the steering wheel tightly as she drove back to the house. Her mouth was a thin line. Normally she would have rolled down the windows, but they remained tightly closed, the wind whistling through the cracks. The sun pierced through the windows, casting a harsh glare over the inside of the car.  
  
“You think there’s a way to override that block?” Steve said.  
  
“I’m sure there is,” Kristan said. “There always is.”  
  
“Good,” Steve said. “We don’t need to go under just because those assholes decided they need to regulate everything.”  
  
Kristan suddenly glanced over at him and smiled.  
  
“What?” Steve said.  
  
She laughed. “I just didn’t know you were so passionate about the station,” she said.  
  
“Yeah, well,” Steve said. “I just don’t want these assholes thinking they can push us around.”  
  
He looked away and turned to the window. Kristan didn’t argue, but a smile remained on her face.  
  
As soon as they got home, she fiddled and experimented with the equipment until she managed to override the jammer. When she gave the morning broadcast, she received her first caller in a week. The next day, the station was blocked again, but she found another way to override it. For the first time, the switchboard lit up with calls. People from around Zone One expressed their frustrations and asked her about her process. The broadcast lasted so long that Kristan forgot that she had clothes drying outside on a clothesline. She ran outside to find her T-shirts ripped off the line and blowing across the ground in the wind.  
  
For the next few weeks, Kristan alternated between broadcasting on her station and fighting to override the latest block. More radio stations started to crop up around the Zones. While some paid the city’s fee, others asked Kristan how to bypass the jammer. Kristan sent Tom to markets around Zone One, searching for different pieces of radio equipment. The ham radio bristled with conversation every night. Even Steve started to deliver the news with more enthusiasm, speaking quickly in case he was cut off mid-sentence.  
  
“Maggie said she heard someone listening to us the other day,” Kristan said one night at dinner.  
  
“Oh yeah?” Steve said.  
  
“Yeah! They had their radio on across the street and she was like—wait, I know that voice!”  
  
Steve laughed. “I guess word’s starting to catch on,” he said. “I don’t remember the last time I saw someone just sitting and listening to the radio.”  
  
“Maybe we’re part of the resurgence,” Kristan said. She smiled at him over her glass.  
  
“Yeah. Maybe.” He smiled back at her, then scraped up the last of the beans on his plate. A candle flickered in the center of the table, casting a shivery glow.  
  
When their station was blocked for the sixth time, Kristan had the idea of switching frequencies. After some tinkering and experimentation, they started broadcasting on a longwave frequency. At first, the number of listeners dropped, but the number started to climb again when word spread around the settlements. A week passed without a single interruption. Then two weeks. They broadcasted every morning, with callers checking in from all over Zone One.  
  
“I bet we’re going to have a hundred listeners by the end of the week,” Kristan said after one broadcast. She had hung a map over the radio equipment. Dozens of pins glinted on the map where they had made contact. She wore an expression of faint pride, and even Steve felt a stirring of excitement.  
  
\---  
  
Tom stepped off the bus and headed into the bus station, where a crowd had formed on the front porch. He grabbed a bus schedule and tucked it inside his jacket. Two men were arguing with the owner over the price of tickets. Tom quickly ducked out of the station and had started off down the street when a Draculoid caught his eye. He kept walking as if he hadn’t noticed.  
  
“Excuse me, sir,” the Drac said.  
  
“ _Es tut mir leid_ ,” Tom said immediately. “ _Ich kann Sie nicht verstehen.”_  
  
The Drac stopped. “What?” he said. “Hang on. What are you saying?”  
  
“ _Es tut mir wirklich leid_ ,” Tom said. “ _Ich spreche nicht englisch_. _Ich komme gerarde aus Golden Valley und habe keine Zeit um anzuhalten. Ich muss wirklich weiter, meine Familie wartet im Dust Basin_ —”  
  
The Drac impatiently waved him off. “Forget it,” he said. “Go on. Just go.”  
  
“ _Danke_ ,” he said.  
  
Tom hurried off down the road, gripping his suitcase. Dust billowed around his shoes. When the town disappeared behind him, he slowed to a walk. The empty highway stretched out in front of him, framed on either side by endless carpets of sand. The sun beat down on the back of his head. His suit weighed against his frame like a thick shawl. After the first mile, he took off his jacket and folded it over his arm.  
  
He followed the highway until he reached the Desert Star motel, the paint bleaching in the sun. A generator hummed inside the office. He stepped inside to find Marjorie standing next to a whirring fan as she peeled carrots in a bowl. A Draculoid stood near the magazine rack. Tom’s breath caught in his throat. He looked over at Marjorie, stepping back instinctively.  
  
“This woman said she’s waiting for you,” Marjorie said without looking up.  
  
“What is it?” Tom said.  
  
“I don’t know if you’re aware, but some new laws have come about,” the Drac said, scratching the back of her neck. “You need a license to sell radio equipment.”  
  
Tom looked at her. “I wasn’t aware of this,” he said.  
  
“I know you weren’t,” she said. “You’re not in trouble. I just need to check your stock. Do you mind showing me to your room?”  
  
Tom felt her eyes on his back as he led her to his room. He stiffly unlocked the door and swung it open. On her request, he hauled boxes of supplies out of the closet: a few books, a pile of clothes, glass bottles, two pairs of shoes, a lamp. The final box held an old microphone and a few audio cables. Tom watched silently as she dropped the equipment in clear plastic bags.  
  
“I’m afraid I’ll have to get these out of here,” she said. “You don’t have anything else lying around here, do you? What’s in the suitcase?”  
  
“Just clothes, food, travel supplies,” he said.  
  
“Open it. Let’s see.”  
  
He unlocked the suitcase and stepped back. “A-ha,” the Drac said, plucking out a battery pack with a coiled wire like a spring. Tom silently gritted his teeth as she wrapped it in a bag. “I knew you were hiding something there,” she said. “All right, is there anything else? Do I need to send in a team to sweep the place?”  
  
“Am I going to be compensated?” Tom said.  
  
“Excuse me?” she said.  
  
“You’re taking about fifteen carbons’ worth of supplies,” Tom said. “I bought that equipment with the intention to resell.”  
  
“We’ll see if we can mail you something,” she said. “But from now on, don’t mess with the radio equipment. Hit up a licensed vendor if you want to buy something for yourself, but don’t try to get in the market.”  
  
Tom closed his eyes as she walked past him to the door. His temper simmered like a pot over a low flame. When she opened the door, something snapped inside him.  
  
“Is that everything?” he said before he could stop himself. “Or are you going to keep eliminating what I can sell until you’ve destroyed my livelihood?”  
  
The Drac stopped in the doorway, her hand still on the doorknob. She held his gaze for a long time. Then she stepped back and closed the door. Tom stepped back, his heart pounding. His first instinct was to apologize, but nothing came out.  
  
“Let me tell you something,” she said. “You’re pretty damn lucky that the city lets you sell at all. Any time they wanted to, they could draw up a new law saying that outsiders aren’t allowed to sell city products.”  
  
Tom didn’t respond. He stepped back against the dresser and gripped the edges.  
  
“When you sell our products, whether you realize it or not, you’re representing the city,” she said. “And if you keep showing disrespect, the city’s not going to want to work with you. You just remember that.”  
  
She held his eye for a few moments, then turned and headed out the door. Tom didn’t move. His insides felt like watery soup. When his heart had stopped racing, he stumbled over to the bed and sat down. A tingly sensation traveled through his limbs, as if the circulation had been cut off. The clock above the bed ticked in the silence.  
  
Finally, he pushed his hair back, then reached for his transmitter. “Hello?” he said. “Yes, this is Tom Curschmann. I’m afraid I won’t be able to complete your order.”


	6. Chapter 6

Kristan stirred the soup as it simmered over the fire. Vegetable peelings bobbed and swirled in the broth. She tapped the spoon against the edge of the pot, then sat back in the lawn chair next to Steve. Grey clouds were gathering over the mountains in the distance. A light breeze picked up, stirring the flames. “Looks like there’s going to be rain,” Kristan said.  
  
“You want me to get the pots out?” Steve said.  
  
“Yeah. Go ahead.”  
  
While Steve headed inside, Kristan sipped from a bottle of water. An engine rumbled in the distance. A white car appeared on the horizon, dust clouding behind the wheels. Kristan slowly started to sit up until she saw the familiar patches of rust and the dented hood. Tom parked next to the road and stepped out with a package tucked under his arm. His expression was distant, as if his mind were elsewhere.  
  
“Hey, Tom,” Kristan said. “How’s it going?”  
  
“Not very well,” he said. “The city just confiscated my radio equipment.”  
  
She raised her eyebrows. “Are you serious?”  
  
He handed her the package and told her the story. When Steve returned with the pots, he listened intently as he laid them out on the porch. Then he wheeled up to the campfire. Kristan closed her eyes and shook her head.  
  
“We can’t keep going on like this,” Steve said. “This is ridiculous.”  
  
“I know,” Kristan said. “But he can’t do anything, or Dead Pegasus’ll cut him off.”  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Steve said. “Hey, Tom—since you’re probably losing business, do you want us to mention you on the broadcast? We’ve got about fifty listeners.”  
  
“I don’t think I should be involved with an illegal broadcast,” Tom said.  
  
“The city’s not onto us,” Steve said. “We’ve been running for two weeks since she switched frequencies.”  
  
“Yeah, we’ll just throw your name out there,” Kristan said. “Say, call this guy, he’ll hook you up with supplies. No big deal.”  
  
Tom laughed a little, almost to himself. “I’ll think about it,” he said. “Thank you, by the way.”  
  
“No problem,” Kristan said. She crouched down by the fire and stirred the broth and vegetables. “Do you want to stay for dinner? We’ve got plenty.”  
  
After a few half-hearted refusals, he followed Steve into the kitchen. When Kristan entered the room with the pot of soup, he stood up. Steve raised his eyebrows, but Tom didn’t sit down until Kristan had taken her seat.  
  
“The city’s got you well trained, huh?” Steve said.  
  
“Excuse me?” Tom said.  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
As they started to eat, thunder rumbled in the distance. Kristan lit a candle in the center of the table. The sky darkened to grey as the clouds approached, swollen and heavy with rain. Fresh, cool air flowed through the window screen. Kristan took a deep breath and closed her eyes.  
  
“I love the smell of rain,” she said.  
  
“Don’t get that too much out here,” Steve said. He ate quickly without thinking, as he’d been trained to do in the wars. Tom ate slowly and quietly as if he were eating at a restaurant in the city. Kristan gulped down her food.  
  
As soon as they were done eating, the rain started to patter outside. It burst into a downpour while they cleared the table, beating against the roof like a shower of nails. Kristan stood on the porch and watched the rain for a while. When the downpour tapered off to a trickle, she carried the pots and pans inside. The gushing torrent seemed to have whisked away the dust and humidity in the air, leaving a fresh, damp smell.  
  
“We heard there’s going to be a protest tonight in Greenberry,” Steve said to Tom. “People are getting sick of the city messing with the radio.”  
  
“I can’t say that I blame them,” Tom said.  
  
“Yeah, Kristan and I thought about going, but we didn’t have the gas money,” Steve said. “I don’t know what they’ve got planned anyway. Maybe a boycott or something. I don’t think there’s much they can do unless they really mobilize.”  
  
After the rainwater had been jarred and sealed, Kristan built a small fire in the firepit. They hauled out the lawn chairs and sat around the fire. The evening light was dim and bluish, casting the mountains in shadow. The ground was damp under their feet. Kristan prodded the fire with a stick, then leaned back and closed her eyes, breathing in the fresh air. Tom shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  
  
“You nervous, kid?” Steve said quietly.  
  
Tom looked up as if he’d been caught stealing. “No, I’m fine,” he said, sinking back in the chair. Steve had a feeling that he wasn't accustomed to sitting idly.  
  
Kristan dragged her chair closer to the fire. She was prodding the kindling with a stick again when she heard the sound of a car engine. Kristan lowered the stick and looked up. A pair of headlights shone through the growing darkness. As the car drew closer, she climbed out of her seat. Tom slowly stood up beside her. The engine was eerily quiet, coasting across the desert with a faint hum.  
  
The headlights cast across the camp, momentarily blinding them. Kristan winced and shielded her eyes. The car parked in front of the house, the engine still running, then abruptly shut off. Kristan caught a glimpse of a white car before two Draculoids stepped out. In the dim light, shadows cut across their masks in harsh angles, as if they were monsters emerging from the darkness.  
  
“Good evening,” the first Drac said. “We’ve received reports that there’s an illegal broadcast taking place here.”  
  
“Who said that?” Kristan said.  
  
“The report came from Station One,” the Drac said. “Apparently you’ve been evading them for quite a long time.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kristan said. Her voice wavered.  
  
“All right, let’s cut the shit,” the second Drac said. “Ma’am, we’ve got five pages of reports detailing all your cheating and screwing around over the past month and a half. We know you’ve been getting around the block and telling other stations around here how to do the same thing. You know exactly what we’re talking about.”  
  
“I just moved to a new frequency,” Kristan said. “There’s no law against that. You don’t control the longwave stations.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter what the frequency is,” the Drac said. “You’re aware that running an unregistered station is against the law, aren’t you? I’m not giving you new information here?”  
  
“Yes, but—you don’t run the Zones,” Kristan said. “You can’t just barge in here and do this.”  
  
“Well, since we’re sending you supplies and basically rebuilt Greenberry from the ground up, I’d say that we are running the Zones,” the Drac said. “What were you all doing before we showed up? Living in camps? Living out of tents?”  
  
“I think the way we lived before you showed up is none of your goddamn business,” Steve said.  
  
The Drac raised his hands. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s not important. Come on,” he said, reaching for Kristan. “Let’s go. There’s a warrant for your arrest.”  
  
“No!” Steve shouted just as Kristan pulled away. The Drac reached for her again, but she shouted and jumped back, holding the stick like a weapon. When the second Drac lunged toward her, she smacked his hands away with the stick. She whirled around and swung at the other Drac, but missed. He grabbed her and hauled her over his shoulder like a sack of rice. She screamed, kicking and struggling like a furious child.  
  
“You sons of bitches,” Steve said. He whipped out a ray gun, but the second Drac tried to wrench it out of his hands. A shot went off and fired a blast of light into the darkness. Tom stumbled back toward the house, his face white with fear. Kristan fought and writhed until the Drac lost his balance and dropped her in the sand. She tackled him to the ground and climbed on top of him, raining blows on his head and shoulders.  
  
Steve fired off another shot, hitting the Drac in the leg. He twisted the gun out of Steve’s hands and staggered back. In an instant, Tom grabbed the stick that was lying in the sand. He swung it at the Drac, but he dodged it and grabbed the end of the stick. Tom struggled to keep his balance as the Drac tried to pull it out of his hands. Suddenly Kristan barreled toward the Drac and knocked him off his feet. They rolled around on the ground, fighting and shouting. She knocked the gun out of his hand, where it scattered several feet away.  
  
As the first Drac climbed to his feet, Tom snatched up the ray gun. The Drac started toward him. Tom frantically pulled the trigger, but nothing happened.  
  
“Take the safety off!” Steve shouted. “The switch at the back!”  
  
Tom flipped the switch and fired. A burst of light exploded from the barrel of the gun. He stumbled back, momentarily blinded. Suddenly something hard collided with his skull. He staggered away, clutching his head, to see one of the Dracs holding the stick. His head throbbed as he fired again. The world swirled around him in a rush of light and heat, the fire crackling and shouts heard several feet away. Another laser ripped through the air in a streak of light.  
  
“Tom!” Kristan shrieked. “Watch out!”  
  
Tom stumbled back, looking around wildly. Before he could react, one of the Dracs charged at him. A glint of silver flashed in the air. Then a fiery pain ripped through his side, like a pair of teeth had sunk into his flesh. He collapsed dizzily to his hands and knees, clutching his side. Kristan screamed. Shouts and chaos filled the air around him, but he couldn’t focus on anything but the searing pain in his side. He pulled his hand away. His palm was sticky and red with blood.  
  
A wave of nausea hit him, but he crawled on his hands and knees, the sand sticking to his palm, until his hand closed over the barrel of the gun. He shakily tried to aim, but the Drac fought Kristan in a blur of white. The other Drac was stirring on the ground. Tom was struggling to focus when a shot rang through the air. He winced and dropped the gun, his ears ringing.  
  
After the initial shocked silence, the first Drac released Kristan. He stepped back with his hands raised. The other Drac climbed to his feet, making the same gesture. Steve held his old military rifle. He aimed the gun at the first Drac as if preparing to shoot.  
  
“Yeah,” Steve said. “That’s right. Make another move, and I’ll blow your fucking heads off.”  
  
The entire desert seemed to go silent. The Dracs stared into the barrel of the gun. The fire crackled and spat behind them. Kristan stepped back, her shoulders heaving.  
  
“Kristan, get him inside,” Steve said. He gestured toward the door with the gun.  
  
Kristan draped Tom’s arm around her shoulders and hauled him to his feet. He stumbled into the house, clutching his side. She guided him onto one of the cots in the bedroom, then disappeared into the kitchen. His shirt was warm and sticky with blood. When she returned, she pressed a towel against the wound in his side. He hissed and shifted in pain.  
  
“I know, I know,” she said with a tinge of panic in her voice. She looked up and pushed her hair back when Steve wheeled in. “Are they gone?” she said.  
  
“Yeah, they just drove off,” Steve said. “Did you call the medics?”  
  
“No,” she said. “Did you?”  
  
“Jesus fucking Christ, Kristan,” Steve said.  
  
“I’ve been trying to stop the bleeding!” Kristan said. “What the hell have you been doing?”  
  
“All right, all right,” Steve said. “We don’t have time for this.”  
  
He rubbed his face with his hands, then grabbed a transmitter from the dresser. The towel that Kristan held was already soaked with blood. Steve clutched his head and looked away.  
  
“Yeah, hello?” Steve said. “Hello? Is anyone there? Can you hear me?” Static hissed from the speaker. Grinding his teeth, he tried another frequency. “Hello?” he said. “Jesus. Are you there?”  
  
“ _Hello?_ ” said a female voice. Her voice was cloudy with static. “ _Who’s this?_ ”  
  
“This is Steve Montano, just outside of Greenberry,” Steve said. “I’ve got a man over here with a stab wound.”  
  
There was a pause. For a moment, Steve wondered if they’d lost the connection. Then the medic said “ _You’re going to have to wait, sir. I’m so sorry._ ”  
  
“What?” Steve said. “What the hell is going on?”  
  
“ _There was a riot in Greenberry_ ,” she said. “ _We’re overbooked and understaffed. There’s about a dozen people down over here—_ ”  
  
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Steve said. “We’ve got a man bleeding out over here with a stab wound, and you’re telling me that you can’t make it?”  
  
“ _I’m so sorry, sir_ ,” she said. “ _I’ll send someone out as soon as I can. What’s your address?_ ”  
  
“We’re down the main road that cuts through Greenberry,” Steve said. “About eight miles out.”  
  
“ _All right. I’m sorry. I’ll let someone know. They’ll be out there as quick as possible._ ”  
  
“Yeah. They better be.”  
  
The connection went dead. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve said. He tossed the transmitter on the dresser. “God, fuck the medics out here,” he said. “Kristan, you think you can sew him up?”  
  
Kristan went white. “ _What?_ ” she said.  
  
“He needs stitches,” Steve said. “We can’t sit around and wait for their worthless asses to get over here. I’ll go boil some water. We’ve gotta sterilize everything first.”  
  
“Wait, wait, _what?_ ” she said. “Jesus Christ, Steve, I’m not performing surgery on him!”  
  
“It’s not surgery!” Steve said. “It’s just stitches, for God’s sake. They did this shit in the wars.”  
  
“I’m not a medic!” she said. “Do I look like a medic to you?”  
  
“Or we could do nothing and just let him bleed to death,” Steve said. “Is that what you want? Because that’s what’s going to happen if we don’t act right now.”  
  
“That’s not enough,” Kristan said. “He needs a blood transfusion, Steve. Do you want me to do that, too? Yeah, I’ll just grab a needle, stick it in his arm—”  
  
Steve pressed a hand to his forehead. Kristan’s voice started to sound distant, as if he were hearing it outside his body. The stench of blood and sweat hung in the air. The needle glinted in the firelight as the medic pushed it through the skin on his arm, the thread running through, closing up the gash. Someone groaned from one of the nearby beds. Steve’s head felt thick and foggy from the morphine, with a twinge of nausea under the sleepiness. His breath fogged in the cold air.  
  
“Steve,” Kristan said. Her voice was fuzzy. “Steve. Hey. I’ll go boil the water, okay? I’ll be right back. You stay here with him.”  
  
Steve vaguely heard her voice as if she were speaking from across a foggy lake. “No,” he said. “I’ll go boil the water. You stay here,” he said when she started to protest. “Christ. I can’t watch this.”  
  
Steve wheeled into the kitchen and switched on the hot plate. His movements seemed distant and unfocused, as if he were moving in a dream. He watched the pot of water as if he were hypnotized. As the heat rose, the water started to bubble and froth and give off steam. The rippling surface had an almost numbing effect. After an indeterminable amount of time, Steve switched off the hot plate and wheeled into the bedroom with a towel under the pot.   
  
Kristan looked up from the cot. Her face was lined with strain. Tom’s face was pale, his breathing ragged. His hair was plastered to his face with sweat. When Steve’s eyes met Kristan’s, an understanding passed between them. He laid the pot on the dresser and wheeled over to the cot. He grasped Tom’s hand, feeling how thin and bony it was.  
  
“Take deep breaths,” Steve said quietly. “Come on. Don’t worry about anything. Just take deep breaths.”  
  
Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The only sound in the room was his sharp, ragged breaths. Kristan quietly replaced the towels, her eyes red. Steve’s insides felt deadened and numb. Occasionally Tom stirred and mumbled something as he drifted in and out of consciousness. The muscles in his neck were tightened from pain.  
  
“God, I wish we could make it easier on him,” Steve said. “I wish we could just give him a shot of morphine. Just something to ease his pain.”  
  
Kristan nodded with her eyes lowered. “Maybe we should’ve given him stitches,” she said.  
  
Steve shook his head. “I’m not a medic,” he said. “I wouldn’t know what the hell I’m doing. Probably would’ve just made it harder on him.”  
  
Steve squeezed his hand, but he was unresponsive. The only movement was the faint pulse in his throat. Kristan cupped his face in her hands and turned his head back and forth, but he didn’t move. He was as motionless as if he’d been drugged.  
  
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Steve’s head shot up. Kristan jumped to her feet and bolted to the entrance. When the door opened, a chorus of footsteps pounded through the house. “He’s in here!” Kristan said. Steve quickly wheeled away from the cot to give them room. One of the medics pressed two fingers against Tom’s throat. “He’s alive, but unresponsive,” she said. Another dropped a black medical bag on the dresser. The third quickly prepared a saline drip and hung it from an IV stand.  
  
“He needs a blood transfusion,” the first medic said.  
  
“I’ll do it,” Steve said. “I’m O-negative. Universal donor.”  
  
The medic rolled up his sleeve and swabbed his arm with disinfectant. The acrid stench of smoke clung to her clothes. When blood started to flow through the tube, he looked away. Kristan stood in the corner with her hands over her mouth. On the third medic’s order, she hurried to the kitchen to boil more water. One of the medics crouched beside the cot and started cleaning the wound.  
  
“Hey, someone give him a shot of painkillers or something, will you?” Steve said. One of the medics prepared a syringe and hurried over.  
  
The medics stitched and bandaged the wound. When they removed the blood transfusion tube, Tom began to stir. He blearily opened his eyes. He lifted his head, then reached for the IV and tried to pull the needle out of his hand.  
  
“Hey, hey, stop it,” Steve said, reaching for his hand. “That’s keeping you alive.”  
  
As he slowly regained consciousness, the color started to return to his face. The medics spoke to him, asking questions, making sure he could understand them. Eventually, he regained enough energy to sit up, wincing a little. His dark hair was slick with sweat. A sickly, shadowy wetness framed his eyes, as if he were feverish. But when a medic checked his temperature, it was normal.  
  
“Is he going to be okay?” Kristan said. She stood next to the cot with her arms folded.  
  
“I think he’ll be fine,” the medic said. “But make sure he’s cleaning it and changing the bandages every day. An infection’s just as dangerous as the wound itself.”  
  
“How much do we owe you?” Steve said.  
  
Her eyes rested on Tom for a few moments. “Let’s just say ten carbons and call it even,” she said finally.  
  
When they left, Kristan carried the bloodied towels to the kitchen and tied them in a plastic bag. The sight of them made her feel nauseated. Tom was sitting on the edge of the cot when she returned. He had changed into one of Steve’s old flannel shirts and a pair of jeans. The clothes hung loosely off his frame.  
  
“How do you feel?” Steve said.  
  
Tom pushed away the sweaty hair that clung to the back of his neck. “I feel like death,” he said.  
  
“Well, you can stay with us,” Kristan said after a moment. “Don’t worry about that.”  
  
He nodded. She brought him a glass of water and urged him to drink as much as he could. He drank slowly, the movement outlined in his throat. Steve thought of his pulse beating faintly in his throat, and he looked away.  
  
“I think you better try to get some sleep, kid,” Steve said after a while. The sky was dark outside the window. Insects sang in the grasses outside.  
  
“Sleep’s good,” Kristan said. “My mother said sleep cures everything.”  
  
“I don’t think I’ll be able to get to sleep tonight,” Tom said.  
  
Steve reached over and patted his arm. “It’s okay, kid,” he said quietly. “You can stay up with us. I don’t think we’ll be getting much sleep, either.”  
  
Kristan helped him to his feet, and they moved to the kitchen. She lit a lantern and placed it on the table. Their shadows cast wavering shapes against the walls. In his old military clothes, Steve thought that Tom looked like a young soldier dragged out of a trench. His pale face was almost ghostly.  
  
“You know, I never thought I’d see this again,” Steve murmured.  
  
“See what?” Kristan said.  
  
“This. This kind of injury. One of my friends so close to death.”  
  
“I never thought I’d be in this situation,” Tom said. “Not after the wars.”  
  
“I guess it never really ends,” Steve said. “People fighting. Getting violent. The same old bullshit.”  
  
Tom nodded with his eyes lowered. Kristan reached over and patted the back of his hand. Outside the window, the wind whispered through the grasses.  
  
\---  
  
The next morning, Kristan checked their station to find that it had been blocked again. She sighed and switched off the radio, then wandered back to the kitchen. Steve half-heartedly stirred a pot of rice on the hot plate. Kristan pulled out a chair next to Tom, wincing as the chair scraped against the floor. Her head throbbed as if a tight metal band were clamped around her skull.  
  
“Let me guess—we’re blocked again?” Steve said without looking up.  
  
“Yup,” Kristan said. “Jesus, my head hurts. How are you feeling, Tom?”  
  
“Not much better,” he said. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”  
  
“Yeah?” she said. Steve placed a mug of weak coffee in front of her. She took a sip, then offered the mug to Tom. He shook his head. She laid the mug on the table, then cradled her head in her hand, drumming her fingernails against the table.  
  
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Everyone jumped as if the ground had just shook beneath them. Kristan jumped out of her seat, her heart pounding, until she saw Maggie’s figure through the screen door. Her panic calmed almost instantly. She hurried over to let her inside.  
  
“I heard that the medics were called to your house last night!” Maggie said. “What’s wrong? Is everyone okay?”  
  
Steve and Kristan exchanged looks. “Actually, he got hurt pretty bad,” he said, nodding toward Tom.  
  
“You did?” Maggie said to Tom. “Oh no! What happened?” She cupped his face in her hands. He flinched back. “Oh, you do look pale,” she said. “What happened to him?”  
  
They told her the story. Maggie’s eyes widened. She looked back at Tom as if she couldn’t believe that he were still alive. “That’s horrible,” she said. “You poor thing. Are you okay? How do you feel now?”  
  
“I’ll be fine,” Tom said.  
  
“Oh, goodness,” Maggie said. “You know, fourteen people were injured in the riot last night.”  
  
“Yeah, what the hell happened there?” Steve said. “One of the medics mentioned that.”  
  
“Things just got out of hand,” she said. “It was supposed to be a peaceful protest, but then the city sent out armed Dracs to clear the road. People started fighting. I think shots were fired. I’m not sure. I locked up the store and hid in the basement.”  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Steve said.  
  
“Are you taking pictures?” Kristan said after a pause. She nodded to the Polaroid camera in Maggie’s hands.  
  
“Oh!” Maggie said. “Yes. Have you listened to the radio lately? They’re trying to spin it as some kind of attack on the city.”  
  
“An attack on the city?” Steve said. “Who the hell was attacking the city? They came to us.”  
  
“I know,” Maggie said. “That’s why I’m trying to gather evidence. I’m getting a supply shipment in a week. When they come out here, I’m going to show them what really happened.” She held up the camera. “Would you mind if I snapped some photos?”  
  
“You’re taking photos?” Kristan said. “All right. Here.” She rolled up her sleeves. “Look at my arms. They’re covered in bruises.”  
  
Maggie snapped several pictures of Kristan and laid the Polaroids out on the table. Steve also had a few bruises from when the Draculoid had tried to wrench his ray gun out of his hands. After taking a few photos, Maggie turned to Tom and raised her eyebrows inquiringly.  
  
Tom shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t want any part of this.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Maggie said. “But you’re the perfect candidate, you look so weak and sickly, you poor thing. Just one picture of your face. Okay? Just let me get one picture of your face.”  
  
Tom raised a hand and shook his head, backing away.  
  
“Just one,” Maggie said. “One picture. That’s it. I promise. I don’t want the city to get away with this. I want them to see what they’re doing to young men like you.”  
  
“Hey,” Steve said quietly. “He said he’s not comfortable with it.”  
  
Maggie glanced at Steve, then lowered the camera.  
  
“Wait,” Kristan said. “Hang on. I think we’ve got something you can use.”  
  
She crouched down to the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a black garbage bag. She had kept it indoors so the smell of blood wouldn’t attract animals. Inside the bag were Tom’s bloodstained clothes. He went pale at the sight. When Maggie started taking photos, he covered his mouth with his hand and walked out of the room.  
  
“Thank you so much,” Maggie said when she’d gathered up the Polaroids. “Really. You have no idea how much you’ve helped me today.”  
  
“Well, I don’t think it’s over yet,” Kristan muttered. “I’m sure there’s still a warrant out for my arrest.”  
  
Maggie waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about that,” she said. “I’ll take care of it.”  
  
Kristan laughed. “You’re going to take care of it?” she said.  
  
“Oh, sure,” she said. “They just want their money. I’ll cover it. No problem.”  
  
Kristan stopped. “Maggie, you can’t cover that!” she said.  
  
“Of course I can!” she said. “You’ve been loyal customers for months, I can kick a few carbons your way.”  
  
“It’s five carbons a month,” Kristan said. “And I already owe them the five or ten that I didn’t pay.”  
  
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Maggie said. “I can afford a few extra carbons a month. It’s better than seeing you go to prison.”  
  
Kristan gave her a watery smile, then pulled her into a hug. Maggie smiled and clapped her on the back. “You’ll be fine, Kristan,” she said. “If anyone shows up and gives you trouble, just direct them to me.”  
  
“Thank you so much,” she said.  
  
“Not a problem,” Maggie said. She thanked them again for the pictures, then headed out the door. Kristan watched with a faint smile. But when Maggie drove away, the smile faded. She looked around the room and ran a hand through her hair.  
  
“I’m going to go check on Tom,” she said. “Did you see where he went?”  
  
“I think we went outside,” Steve said.  
  
When she left, Steve grabbed the pot of cold rice from the counter and dished some onto his plate. He ate slowly without tasting it. As his mind wandered, he thought of the bloodstained suit in the garbage bag, and Tom lying white and unresponsive like a cold fish. Steve knew he would carry that image for as long as he lived.  
  
He finished eating, then carried the plate to the sink. The sound of a car in the distance floated on the wind. He wheeled out to the front porch and watched the heat rise from the highway on the horizon, shimmering in the air.


	7. Chapter 7

**2000  
  
** Kristan wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. Black feathers fluttered around her feet like dandelion seeds. She plucked the rest of the feathers from the blackbird, then cleaned and sliced it before dropping it in the pot. She climbed to her feet and wiped her hands on her jeans, then opened the door and stuck her head inside.  
  
“I’m going to check on the acorns,” she said to Steve. “C’mere and put the bird on the fire.”  
  
“I’m busy,” Steve said. He searched through a sack of beans, dropping the moldy ones in a bowl.  
  
“I don’t care. C’mon. It’ll only take a few minutes.”  
  
Steve groaned, then wheeled away from the table. She handed him the pot and headed off down the road. The glaring sun beat down on her head and shoulders. Her hair was tied back in a braid, but beads of sweat still formed on her scalp. She walked through the grasses until she heard the sound of trickling water. A river cut through the earth, framed by boulders, shrubs, and spindly trees. A tower of pointed reddish rocks was reflected in the water. Kristan splashed water on her face and rubbed it over her shoulders and arms, then crouched down beside the base of a tree.  
  
A bag was tied around the tree trunk. For the past few days, brown liquid had seeped out of the bag, but now the water was clear. Kristan untied the bag and headed back to the house, a thin stream of water trailing behind her. When she reached the house, Tom’s car was parked on the side of the road. He and Steve were talking beside the fire.  
  
“Hey,” Kristan said. “Did you get the fuel?”  
  
Tom held up a single can of Dead Pegasus fuel. Kristan pressed her lips together. She took the can and turned it around, checking the expiration date. Grime and dirt obscured the label.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” Tom said. “That’s the best I could do. The city’s been cracking down on inventory.”  
  
“That looks like it’s been sitting in someone’s garage for a while,” Steve said.  
  
“It probably has,” Tom said. “He didn’t want to take anything out of the warehouse. For all I know, it could have come from his apartment.”  
  
“Did he raise the price again?” Kristan said.  
  
“Of course he did,” Tom said. “If he keeps it up, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep working with him. It’s getting to the point that the price isn’t worth the risk.”  
  
Kristan studied the can, then nodded to herself as if she’d made a decision. “Do you want to stay for dinner?” she said. “We’re having blackbird and acorns.”  
  
“Certainly,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”  
  
“Of course we don’t mind,” she said. “We love having you.”  
  
When the food was cooked, Kristan measured out a few spoonfuls of acorns and three shreds of meat on each plate. They sat on the porch, where the evening air was beginning to cool. No one spoke for a few minutes. As they ate, Kristan thought of the soups she had once cooked with rich broth and hunks of peeled vegetables. She scraped up the weak juices on her plate with her fork.  
  
“I should let you know that I’ll be leaving again in a few days,” Tom said finally, breaking the silence.  
  
“Another scavenging trip?” Steve said.  
  
He nodded. “I caught wind of a town on the border of Zone One,” he said. “I don’t think it’s been inhabited since the wars. The most it’s seen is a few drifters.”  
  
“Are you sure it’s uninhabited?” Steve said.  
  
Tom laughed shortly. “If it’s not, I’m turning around and getting the hell out of there.”  
  
Steve smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You got everything you need?” he said. “Fuel, firewood, first-aid kit? You’re keeping your gun charged?”  
  
“Do you have enough food?” Kristan said. “We could give you a couple of cans.”  
  
“I’ll be fine,” Tom said. “Thank you.”  
  
“Well, keep an eye out,” Steve said. “You know how it is. Don’t stop for anyone you meet on the road.”  
  
Tom nodded, running a finger along the rim of his water glass.  
  
“Do you make a lot of money from these trips?” Kristan said.  
  
“Not a lot, but it helps,” Tom said. “It brings new supplies into the market.”  
  
“What do you take?” she said.  
  
“Anything I can sell,” he said. “Paper, candles, silverware, bedsheets. Some of the buildings still have food, but of course it’s expired.”  
  
“You could still use it,” Steve said. “Recycle the cans.”  
  
“I do,” Tom said. “I’ve taken jars, too. Anything that could sell.”  
  
Steve nodded and tapped his hand against the armrest of his chair. He and Kristan exchanged glances. Finally, Kristan cleared her throat and leaned forward.  
  
“So, uh—Steve and I have been talking about this for a couple of weeks,” she said. “We were wondering if we could go with you.”  
  
Tom raised his eyebrows. “On the scavenging trip?” he said.  
  
“Yeah,” she said. “I mean, there’s nothing to do here. You know Steve’s not getting the check anymore, I’m having trouble finding work, supplies are tight, money’s tight…”  
  
“I feel like we’re basically at a standstill,” Steve said. “We need to do something. Maybe go out, get some supplies we can sell, and figure out what we’re going to do.”  
  
“I can’t promise that it’s going to be profitable,” Tom said.  
  
“I know,” Steve said. “But everything’s drying up around here.”  
  
“You realize it’s going to involve hours of driving,” Tom said. “Most of it through the empty desert.”  
  
“That’s nothing new to us,” Steve said. “Trust me.”  
  
“And you might be entering old houses,” Tom said. “They’re all abandoned, of course, but you’ll be finding a lot of personal items. Everything they left behind. Pictures, clothes, wedding rings.”  
  
He unconsciously held up his right hand. For the first time, Steve noticed that he still wore his wedding ring.  
  
“Well, we’ll manage,” Steve said. “That’s not unusual in the Zones. Hell, people broke into apartments in the city all the time. With people still living in them.”  
  
Tom nodded. “I just wanted to let you know,” he said. “Not everyone’s able to do it. But you can’t leave anything behind. You have to remember that the families aren’t coming back for it.”  
  
Kristan looked down and folded her hands in her lap. Steve stroked his chin.  
  
“I think we can do it,” Kristan said. “I mean, we’ve done it before.”  
  
“Yeah, when we were traveling, we always came across old houses,” Steve said. “We used to do a lot of scavenging. I mean, it’s not my favorite thing to do, but it’s not new to us.”  
  
After some hesitation, Tom helped them make the travel arrangements. He agreed to pick them up at 7 A.M. on Wednesday morning. “Thanks, man,” Steve said when he stood up to leave. “Hey—sorry we dumped this on you at the last minute. We just weren’t sure how to bring it up to you.”  
  
Tom shook his head. “Just don’t mention this to anyone,” he said. “I don’t want strangers thinking they can accompany me.”  
  
“We won’t, man,” Steve said. “Don’t worry.”  
  
For the next few days, Steve and Kristan used as little fuel as possible. Instead of taking their weekly trip to town, they scavenged for edible seeds and shriveled roots. Kristan packed canned food in an old fruit crate from the closet. On the morning of their trip, she stuffed her clothes in a suitcase, then went to the porch and sat on the suitcase until Tom’s car pulled up to the house. Regine, a former war nurse from the veteran camp, arrived to watch their house while they were gone. As they drove away, Kristan rolled down the window and waved. Regine waved back as she hauled her suitcase inside.  
  
The sun shone high in the sky when they started off, with a few puffy clouds hovering over the mountains. Kristan kicked off her sandals and propped up her feet on the back of Steve’s seat. Unlike the musty smell of her Camaro, this car had an unfamiliar, almost sterile smell. The black leather seats were hot in the sunlight. She prodded Steve’s shoulder with her foot, then laughed when he pushed her away. She nudged his shoulder again.  
  
“Jesus Christ, Kristan,” Steve said.  
  
“You got a problem, Steve?” she said.  
  
“Yeah, I got a problem. Keep your nasty-ass feet away from me.”  
  
She laughed and placed her feet on the floor. Her hair blew and tangled in the wind that whipped through the window. They passed the old Station One building. The white paint had chipped and peeled off. Weeds sprouted around the foundation. As always, Kristan smiled to herself with a hint of satisfaction.  
  
“I can’t believe it’s still empty,” she said.  
  
“What?” Steve said.  
  
“Station One. No one’s moved in yet.”  
  
“I’m sure they have,” Steve said. “There’s probably a group of drifters in there. Maybe a couple of waveheads.”  
  
Out of habit, he fiddled with the radio. Most of the stations blared static, but a few played crackly music that was barely audible. “Do you mind?” Steve said. When Tom shook his head, Steve turned up the volume and leaned back in his seat. The channels always fizzled out after a few miles, forcing him to seek another station. After a while, he popped in an old cassette tape.  
  
Heat rose from the blacktop in waves, distorting the horizon. Trees and boulders baked under the sun. Kristan watched the desert roll past the windows. She flipped through the books she had brought, stopping whenever she felt carsick. Once she tried to shoot birds from the window until Tom told her to put the ray gun away. After lunch, she slept for a few hours. When she awoke, the radio had been turned off. The sky was turning greyish in the early evening. Shadows had lengthened across the desert.  
  
“Jesus, I’m sore,” she said, yawning and stretching. “Are we going to make camp tonight?”  
  
“Tom and I were just talking about that,” Steve said. “I say we do it outside of town. Just in case there’s drifters hanging around.”  
  
“Yeah, campfires attract them like nothing else,” Kristan said. “You start a fire in a place you think’s abandoned, and you’ll be surprised how many people just appear out of nowhere.”  
  
When they reached the town, the sky was growing dark. A dead stoplight hung from the powerlines that were stretched over the highway. The last rays of sunlight cast a orangish glow over the buildings. Twittering birds fluttered around the roofs. The buildings huddled together, as still and towering as rock formations that had been carved over centuries.  
  
“I think we’ve been here before,” Kristan said. Her eyes followed the car’s reflection as it passed the cracked windows.  
  
“Yeah, it looks familiar,” Steve said. “I bet we passed through here once or twice.”  
  
When they stepped out of the car, a light breeze was starting to blow. Tom tossed Kristan a flashlight from the glove compartment, then unscrewed the sheet of plywood nailed over one of the windows. He climbed through the empty window frame. He took the flashlight and shined it around the inside of the building, gripping his ray gun. The name of an insurance company was still painted on the wall. Upturned chairs were tossed around the floor. He opened the door from inside and swung it open.  
  
“I think there’s apartments upstairs,” Tom said as Steve and Kristan headed inside. He pointed the flashlight at a dark stairwell in the back.  
  
“You want to go up there?” Kristan said.  
  
“Most of the supplies will be up there,” Tom said. “If there’s anything left. I’m sure it’s been raided before.”  
  
“Well, people always overlook stuff,” Kristan said. She studied the stairwell with her hands on her hips, then seemed to make a decision. “Steve, do you want to check the office?” she said.  
  
“Can do,” he said. He opened a desk drawer and flipped through a jumble of yellowed files.  
  
“All right. We’re going to run upstairs. Yell if you need anything.”   
  
Tom handed her the flashlight and they headed up the stairwell. When they reached the hallway, Tom raised his gun, then slowly opened the door and crept inside. A cold draft whipped through the air. Kristan shined the flashlight around the apartment. A window had been smashed in the living room, the curtains rustling in the breeze. Pieces of glass glittered on the floor among the debris and wrinkled, soiled papers. Water stains leeched across the carpet and crept up the wooden legs of the furniture. The wallpaper was stained with patches of black mold.  
  
“You think this happened recently?” Kristan said.  
  
After a moment, Tom shook his head. “There’s too much damage for it to be recent,” he said. “I think this apartment has been slowly rotting away.”  
  
They fetched pillowcases from the closet, then started emptying the kitchen drawers. Plates, cups, dishes, and silverware all fell into the pillowcases with a loud clatter. As they searched the apartment, they hauled away everything they could find: towels, buckets, bedsheets, candles, plastic containers, curtains, wires, jars, yellowed papers, a pair of glasses, even nails hammered into the wall. When Kristan took picture frames off the walls, something stirred inside her. Three children smiled blandly under the glass. She laid the pictures facedown on the table before pulling the nails from the wall.  
  
When the sun had sunken completely behind the mountains, they camped behind a hill of boulders for the night. They drove back to the town at daybreak, when dew still glistened in the grasses. They scoured the buildings from top floor to basement for anything they could sell. The trunk and backseat of the car were crammed with books, dishes, wooden planks, bricks, old luggage, a box of employee uniforms that they discovered in an old restaurant. Tom only had to glance at an item before knowing if he could sell it or not. The sun charted its way across the sky, glaring down on the buildings until it finally started to set once more.  
  
As the air started to cool, they headed to the drugstore at the end of the road. Trash littered the floor. The shelves and glass counters were empty except for the occasional spare bottle. A few old paintings still hung from the walls. Tom took down a landscape painting and examined it, then opened the back of the frame. He had explained to Steve and Kristan that people sometimes tucked valuables behind paintings. But this particular frame held nothing.  
  
“Tom, you should think about bringing a trailer to these supply runs,” Steve said. He touched one of the tabletops, leaving fingerprints in the dust. “I bet people would pay for these chairs and tables.”  
  
“I would, but I can’t afford to rent a trailer,” Tom said. He hung up the painting and stood back. Kristan laughed behind him.  
  
“Why are you hanging it up?” she said. “Just leave it on the counter. Who’s going to notice?”  
  
Tom raised his eyebrows, but didn’t respond. Kristan looked away and wiped her dusty hands on her jeans.  
  
“Well, we better grab some shit and get out of here,” she said. “The sun’s starting to set.”  
  
“I’ll check the back room,” Tom said.  
  
“Want the flashlight?” she said.  
  
She handed it to him. Tom opened the back door, expecting a stockroom, but the door led to a set of stairs. He shined the flashlight down the stairs. The light hovered on a spot on the floor. He crept down into the basement, the steps creaking under his weight. The darkness engulfed him like a pool of water. The air was thick with a stale, dusty smell like an old coat that had been hidden in a closet for decades.  
  
When his feet hit the floor, he cast the flashlight around the room. Piles of old boxes, stacks of dusty magazines tied with string, an empty steel shelf. Suddenly the flashlight hit two points of light that reflected in the darkness. Tom stepped back, suddenly hit with a wave of dizzying fear. In the dim light, he vaguely registered the face of a woman. Half her face was marred with burn scars. He swung the light around, the beam trembling as his hands shook. Other people were huddled in the darkness.  
  
“Oh God,” Tom said. The words seemed detached, as if he were hearing someone else speak. “Oh my God.”  
  
Shouts rose from the back wall. A woman rolled off a mattress and lumbered to her feet. Her head was bald, her eyes small and shrunken. Tom staggered back toward the steps, his legs shaking, then turned and darted up the stairs. He stumbled out into the store, feeling light-headed. “Run!” he shouted. “Run! Get out of here!”  
  
“What’s going on?” Kristan cried. “Are there people down there?”  
  
“Yes! Come on! Get out of here!”  
  
He slammed the back door shut, then darted out the front door, his feet pounding against the sidewalk. Kristan raced after him, Steve wheeling as fast as he could. Tom ran to the car and threw the doors open. Once everyone was inside, he hit the gas pedal and veered out onto the road. Another rush of adrenaline hit him when he glanced in the rearview mirror, but the people were nowhere in sight. His hands trembled violently. Every nerve in his body seemed to shiver with fear.  
  
“What the hell happened?” Steve said. “There were people waiting down there?”  
  
“Yes,” Tom said shakily. “I don’t know what they were doing, but there were five or six of them. Just standing against the back wall.”  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Steve said. “I’m glad you got the hell out of there. Kristan and I were just sitting up there when we heard those shouts, and we were like—holy shit, are there people down there?”  
  
Nodding, Tom wiped a hand across his face. His eyes were red.  
  
“Take it easy, man,” Steve said. “It’s okay. They’re not going to follow us. You’re safe.”  
  
“And if they do, Steve and I’ll fight them off,” Kristan said.  
  
She laughed a little, but Tom didn’t respond. He drove until they reached a trailer park perched at the base of a hill. Christmas lights were strung around the office, which was painted bright pink. Tom managed to keep his voice steady as he paid for a campsite. He parked next to an aluminum fire pit, then stepped outside and started to pace. He barely registered Kristan setting up the tent behind him. The adrenaline had washed away, but he still felt shivery, as if residue clung to his nerves.  
  
“Are you okay, Tom?” Kristan said.  
  
He stopped pacing and turned around. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I’m sorry. I’m fine.”  
  
“Tom, you always say that, but I never quite believe it.”  
  
He smiled weakly. “I didn’t plan on spending money tonight,” he said.  
  
“To be honest with you, Tom, this is one reason that Kristan and I didn’t want you going alone,” Steve said as he nudged he campfire with a stick. “We’ve heard too many stories about scavengers going missing.”  
  
“Yeah, there’s some bad people out there,” Kristan said. “Not every place in the Zones is like Greenberry.”  
  
“I know,” Tom said.  
  
He looked up at the sky, then headed wordlessly to the car. Kristan lowered her eyes. Around them, the campers laughed and talked and chanted around their campfires, their voices carrying on the wind.  
  
After dinner, their neighbors invited them to sit around their campfire. The people wore T-shirts, overalls, baggy jeans, handmade sweaters. Colorful lights and flags decorated their trailers. They told the travelers about their gardens and hunting trips, daily water collections, solar power cells mounted to their roofs. To their surprise, one of the women brought out a bowl of fresh vegetables. The campers passed the bowl around the fire like a bottle of whisky.  
  
“You have no idea how long it’s been since I’ve seen vegetables like this,” Steve said. “We’ve been struggling ever since the city cut us off.”  
  
“Yeah, what happened to you guys?” said a woman in overalls. “We heard about that.”  
  
“Well, it all started when the city decided they needed to put rules on the way we run our radio stations,” Steve said. “You had to register with them, pay a fee every month, all this shit. So people started protesting. We figured out how to get around the block, tried different frequencies, stuff like that, which the city wasn’t too happy about. Eventually it got to the point where a huge fight broke out in town. About a dozen people were hurt.”  
  
He paused, wondering if Tom would mention what had happened to him. When he didn’t, he continued.  
  
“The city backed off a little, but this shit with the radio stations kept going,” Steve said. “At one point, maybe two-thirds of all the stations in Zone One were blocked. Then they decided to raise the fee from five carbons to ten. They said it was to cover the cost of the technology that they had to keep updating to keep us under. Well, nobody could pay that. Basically every station went under. So people went up to Station One—that’s where they were located—and started arguing with them. Then one gang went up to the station, shit got ugly, and they ended up holding the entire station hostage.”  
  
Several campers gasped. The woman in overalls winced.  
  
“Yeah, it was bad,” Steve said. “Nobody got hurt, but after that, the city said—fine. We’re cutting off all connections to Zone One. Which was bad for us, because Kristan and I were getting a check from them every month because of my old war injuries. And Tom had been working with Dead Pegasus—you know, the oil company—but they had to cut him off, too. So basically half his job was down the drain.” He didn’t add that Tom had continued to work with one of the employees, who illegally smuggled fuel out of the city at highly marked-up prices.  
  
“Where did you guys get supplies?” said a fourteen-year-old girl.  
  
“We’ve got a lot of scavengers around the area,” Steve said. “Some people have gardens, too. Kristan and I have one out back. But it’s nothing like yours. It was pretty tough out there for a while.”  
  
“They let Maggie start selling again after a year,” Kristan said.  
  
“Yeah, they started working with a store in town again. But what she gets is still pretty limited.”  
  
Before they headed back to their camp, the campers insisted on giving them a few cans of preserved vegetables. Kristan lined them up against the back of the tent. When she lit a kerosene lamp, the light glowed through the jars like colorful lanterns. She unrolled the sleeping bags while Tom headed outside to sleep in the car for the night.  
  
“You know, these guys are doing pretty well for themselves,” Steve said. “They’ve got food and solar power. It’s like they’re just camping out here.”  
  
“Maybe they’ve got a city hook-up,” Kristan said.  
  
“Yeah, maybe. I was just thinking that if they can do it, why can’t we?”  
  
“We don’t have solar,” she said.  
  
“Yeah, but we could still grow crops. Have real gardens, with real farmers. Maybe look into other forms of energy. It seems like people in town can’t survive without the city giving them supplies.”  
  
“The Native Americans survived out here, didn’t they?” Kristan said. “They didn’t need modern technology.”  
  
“Yeah. That’s what I’m saying. If they could do it, and these guys can do it, I don’t see why Greenberry needs to depend on the city for everything.”  
  
Kristan extinguished the lamp. After they said goodnight, they climbed into their sleeping bags. Steve lay awake for a long time, turning over ideas in his head. He thought of a story the villagers had told around the campfire about a man named James Griffith. According to legend, he left Battery City on horseback in its early days and traveled to an empty stretch of land, where he camped out in a narrow cavern cut into the rock. He was preparing to go to bed when a snake suddenly slithered across the ground, the firelight reflected in its scales. His first instinct was to kill it. But he was so entranced by the snake that he followed it as it crawled deep inside the cavern, winding over the rocks and sliding through the crevices, until James found himself looking down at a massive underground lake. The water was so still and clear that the cavern floor under the lake looked like a reflection of the ceiling.  
  
They returned to Greenberry the next day. Tom didn’t talk much during the drive, but he listened while Steve and Kristan eagerly discussed their ideas. When they were a few miles outside of town, Kristan radioed Maggie to let them know they were coming. A small crowd was forming in the road when they arrived. They hurried up to the car, some holding their bags, others carrying goods that they wanted to trade: old clothes, lamps, transmitters, beads. One woman rolled a tire up to the car.  
  
“Stand back,” Tom said when he stepped out of the car. Voices surrounded him. “No, I don’t. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Step back. Put that away, I don’t deal with weapons.”  
  
He ordered the crowd to back away, then unlocked the trunk. People tried to peer around him. He turned around and faced the crowd like a preacher facing a congregation, surrounded by a sea of murmuring voices and curious eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

**2001**  
  
“Say that Kristan and I are doing really well, and we’d love for him to come over,” Steve said. “But tell him that he has to bring a sleeping bag, because we don’t have any extra beds.” He paused. “Wait. No. Shit. I think we’ve got an old sleeping bag somewhere in the closet. Okay, scratch that out.”  
  
Tom sighed through his teeth and scribbled out what he’d written. “Steve, you need to make up your mind before I start writing,” he said.  
  
“All right. I’m sorry. Just say, we’d love for him to come over. We might have an extra sleeping bag in the closet, but he should bring his own just in case.”  
  
Tom looked at him for confirmation, then wrote down what he’d said. The screen door opened and Kristan barged into the kitchen, hauling a bucket of water on the counter. She leaned against the counter and wiped the sweat off her forehead. “Hey,” she said. “What are you boys doing?”  
  
“Tom’s writing a letter for me,” Steve said. “You know I can’t spell for shit.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” she said. “Who’re you writing to?”  
  
“Tim,” Steve said. “I talked to him on the radio this morning. He said he loves getting letters from all the different camps around the area. Said it reminds him of his childhood.”  
  
“Well, that’s nice,” Kristan said. She poured the water that she’d collected into the bucket under the kitchen counter, then straightened. “I’m going to check on the acorns,” she said. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”  
  
“Yeah. Sure. Try not to get lost.”  
  
Kristan grinned as she headed out the door. She waded through the dry grasses until she came to the stream. As she crouched down to untie the bag, a glint of white caught her eye. Kristan stopped, then looked up. A white car was parked off in the plain behind the towering red rocks. Low voices murmured somewhere nearby. She slowly untied the bag and rose to her feet. The water dripped on her bare toes in cool droplets, but she barely noticed.  
  
Kristan stepped back, suddenly aware of the way the grasses crunched under her feet. She gripped the bag as if it were a ray gun. Just when she was about to turn around, a Draculoid suddenly flashed into view, the white suit brilliant in the sunshine. Kristan stumbled away from the stream, looking desperately back at the highway. When her foot caught on a tangled root, the Drac turned around. A thrill of fear shot through her veins. She thought about the ray gun tucked in the waistband of her jeans, but the Drac was already calling over his associates.  
  
“Looks like we’ve got a visitor!” the Drac said. Another Drac and a maskless man in a grey suit came into view. He had sharp, angular features and black hair that was combed back from his face. Kristan stepped back and raised a hand as if to protect herself.  
  
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” the first Drac said as he hurried over. “We’re not going to hurt you. We’re just out here doing some tests.”  
  
“Yeah, our boss sent us out here to test the environment,” the second Drac said. “Collect samples, test the radiation in the soil, things like that.”  
  
When Kristan didn’t respond, the first Drac said “Jesus Christ, it’s hot out here.” He tugged at the neck of his mask. “How do you guys stand to live out here? I’ve been out here three hours and I feel like my face is melting off.”  
  
“It—it’s not too bad,” Kristan said. “Once you’ve gotten used to it.”  
  
“I find that hard to believe,” the Drac said. He nodded toward the bag. “So what have you got in there?”  
  
“Just some acorns,” she said.  
  
He scratched his neck under the mask. “You guys eat those or something?”  
  
“Yeah,” she said. Her legs trembled as if her muscles had turned to slush and water. “Listen, I—I’ve got to get going—”  
  
“Gonna go have lunch?” the Drac said.  
  
She wiped her nose. “Yeah. Sure.”  
  
“Man, I haven’t eaten since this morning,” he said. He turned to his partner. “What about you?”  
  
“I didn’t even eat,” she said. “I just grabbed a shake on the way up there.”  
  
“And what about you, sir?” he said to the man that Kristan guessed was the leader.  
  
“No,” he said.  
  
“You mind if we join you?” the Drac said, turning back to Kristan. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but it’s boiling hot out here, we didn’t bring any food, and I’m afraid she’s going to pass out—” He jerked his thumb toward his partner.  
  
“I’m not going to pass out!” she said. “Shut up, Chris.”  
  
“So how about it?” the Drac said, ignoring her.  
  
Kristan drew in a shaky breath. Her stomach sloshed as if she’d drank a gallon of water. The leader’s eyes were focused on her. He folded his arms and raised his chin.  
  
“Yeah,” she muttered. “Sure.”  
  
“Great! I’m guessing you live around this area?”  
  
Without another word, she ducked her head and marched back toward the road. Whenever the Drac tried to talk to her, she answered with quick mutters and nods. Guilt grew inside her like a swelling tumor as she approached the house. When she opened the door, she felt like she were leading a group of axe murderers inside.  
  
“Hey, Kristan, I was going to ask you—” Steve began, then stopped. Tom’s face went pale. He slowly stood up, gripping the back of the chair.  
  
“We just thought we’d drop in for lunch,” the Drac said. “We haven’t really eaten all day. And boy, it’s hot out there.” He placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the kitchen. “You folks live in here? It’s pretty cramped, isn’t it?”  
  
“Do you want something?” Steve said. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“We just thought we’d stop by, have lunch, talk to the locals. We’re with the environmental agency.” He took out a handheld Geiger counter. “Actually, you mind if we check out your place? We’ll just perform a couple of tests. Nothing major.”  
  
Everyone looked at Steve. He sucked in his breath. “Yeah,” he said without looking at the Drac. “Whatever. Go for it.”  
  
“Thank you kindly.”  
  
While the Drac checked the radiation levels, Kristan suddenly became aware of the pressure in her bladder. She hurried out to the outhouse. When she returned, she grabbed a can of beans and hacked it open with her pocketknife. The Dracs were checking the readout on the meter.  
  
“Do you need some help over there?” said the female Drac, looking up.  
  
Kristan shook her head. She peeled off the lid and dumped the beans into a pot.  
  
“We could help you, if you needed it,” the male Drac said. “We’re pretty damn good with a knife.”  
  
The Drac exchanged grins with his partner, then caught Tom’s eye for a moment, smiling under his mask. Tom’s expression went cold. Raw fury shot through his veins like heroin. Words bubbled up in his throat, but he forced himself not to speak, feeling like he were swallowing a stone.  
  
“Well, your radiation levels look normal,” the Drac said as if nothing had happened. “Most places are, of course, but some locations have a little spike. You ever go outside of Zone One?”  
  
Silence filled the air. Steve forced himself to speak. “No,” he said.  
  
“Well, they’ve got higher radiation levels, but it’s nothing major. At our last count, your average was 0.9. Their average was somewhere around 0.12.”  
  
“Probably closer to the fallout,” Steve said.  
  
“Well, sure,” the Drac said.  
  
Kristan stirred and whipped the beans around in the pot as if she were trying to mash them. Once the beans were heated up, she dropped the plates on the counter and marched off to the bedroom. She returned with a folding chair. “We only have one extra chair,” she said.  
  
“That’s fine,” said the female Drac. “We can stand.”  
  
She dropped the chair next to the table, then dumped spoonfuls of beans onto their plates. Without a word, the man in the grey suit took the seat at the table. For several minutes, no one spoke. The only sound in the room was the clink of silverware against plates. The man in the suit ate with short, quick bites. His expression seemed to be carved in stone.  
  
“Man, these are some good beans,” the Drac said. “What do you think, sir?”  
  
“They’re fine,” the man said without looking up.  
  
The Dracs exchanged grins. “Don’t mind him,” the Drac said to Kristan. “He’s just being quiet. Hey, how much range do you get with that radio equipment back there?”  
  
“Most of Zone One,” she muttered.  
  
“Oh yeah? Damn, that’s a lot more than I expected.”  
  
He studied the equipment through the doorway for a few moments, then turned and stood behind Tom, placing his hands on the back of his chair. He looked casually around the room as if nothing were wrong. Tom closed his eyes and sucked in his breath. The Drac drummed his hands on the back of the chair, humming to himself. Suddenly Steve slammed his glass on the table.  
  
“All right, that’s enough,” he said. “What’s going on? What the hell are you trying to do here?”  
  
The Drac looked at him with fake shock. “Me?” he said. “Hey, man, I just thought we’d drop in and have lunch with you guys.”  
  
“No, you’re trying to do something. Are you trying to intimidate us? Is that it? Are you trying to scare us?”  
  
“We’re not trying to scare anyone,” the Drac said.  
  
“That’s bullshit. You look like a bunch of fucking monsters with those masks. And what about you?” he said, turning to the man in the grey suit. “You’re just going to sit here and let this happen? You can’t reign in your fucking employees?”  
  
The man looked up from his plate. His expression didn’t change. He lowered his fork, then slowly folded his napkin and laid it beside his plate. The Dracs watched him wordlessly. Steve prepared himself for the explosion.  
  
“There has been more illegal activity reported here than any other house in Zone One,” he said. “You’ve ignored our laws, incited criminal activity, and dodged the consequences at every turn. You’re incredibly lucky that we haven’t decided to arrest you.”  
  
“You can’t arrest us,” Steve said. “You’ve got no power in the Zones.”  
  
The male Drac took out a pair of handcuffs and started toward him. Steve immediately backed up. The Dracs chuckled as he put the handcuffs away.  
  
“We could report you to the city,” Tom said.  
  
The Drac laughed. “Yeah?” he said. “And just what are you going to report us for?”  
  
“I’m sure your employers wouldn’t be happy to know that you’re out here harassing the locals instead of doing your job,” he said.  
  
“So you think you’re going to report us to the city and make this all go away?” the Drac said. “I’ve got news for you, man.” He gripped the back of the chair and leaned forward, then whispered loudly. “Nobody gives a shit about a bunch of criminals.”  
  
Kristan jumped to her feet. “All right,” she said. “That’s enough. You’re harassing us.”  
  
The Drac raised his hands. “Hey, I’m just telling him the facts—”  
  
“I don’t care,” she said. “Get out of my house.”  
  
“All right, all right,” the Drac said. “We can leave. Sorry we interrupted your busy lives of playing around on the radio and hunting for acorns.”  
  
The Dracs laughed to themselves as they headed for the door. The man in the suit pushed back his chair and stood up, adjusted his sleeves, then glanced at each one of them in turn. Tom and Steve looked coldly back at him. Kristan seethed with anger.  
  
“Be very careful of your words,” the man said.  
  
When the door closed behind him, Kristan pushed back the curtains and watched as they headed down the road. As soon as they were gone, she stacked up the plates and dropped them in the sink. “I hate these fucking Dracs!” she burst out. “They just barge in here, harass all of us, and leave!”  
  
“I want to know what the hell they think they’re doing out here,” Steve said. “We’ve had no contact with them for ages, and now suddenly they’re bringing the Dracs out here again?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Kristan said. “But they better leave us the fuck alone. I’m not going through another round of what we dealt with with the radio.”  
  
“What were they doing when you found them?” Tom said.  
  
“They said they were testing the environment,” she said. “I don’t know what they’re really doing. They had a car parked out by the river.”  
  
Tom walked over to the window and gazed at the road outside. Steve sighed and shook his head. The letter to Tim still rested on the table, one of the corners soggy where the man in the suit had placed his glass.  
  
\---  
  
Tom stood in front of his car where it had been parked on the side of the road. Birds fluttered around the dead powerlines above him. The sky was a solid stretch of blue, the shade lightening near the horizon. He paced back and forth in front of the car, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The voice on the transmitter crackled with static.  
  
“ _I just can’t do it anymore, man_ ,” the voice said. “ _The city’s doing inventory checks every week now. They go through and check every single can on the shelves. And if one can’s missing, you have to file a report about it. If a bunch of cans are missing, they send you in for questioning_.”  
  
“Then just take one or two,” Tom said. “Mark them down as stolen.”  
  
“ _Can’t do it_ ,” the voice said. “ _They’ve changed the way that works, too. If something gets stolen, you have to file a whole report. They do an investigation, check the security cameras, everything. They don’t fuck around anymore._ ”  
  
Tom sighed and covered his eyes. “What about the defective stock?” he said.  
  
“ _Same deal_ ,” he said. “ _I told you, Tom, they’re not fucking around. The most I can get you is maybe one can a month, and I don’t think that’s worth the risk_.”  
  
“You realize that this is half my business out here,” Tom said.  
  
“ _I’m sorry, man_ ,” he said. “ _But I don’t know what to tell you. The city’s making it almost impossible to get anything out anymore._ ”  
  
When the call was over, Tom rubbed a hand across his face, then opened the door and stowed the transmitter in the glove compartment. The inside of the car was hot and stuffy. He checked the radio as he drove, listening for supply advertisements, but heard nothing but music and static. The sun glared blindingly above the highway. A white plastic bag rolled down the side of the road like a tumbleweed.  
  
He had turned to the left and started down the main highway when something glinted in the distance. As he drew closer, a barbed-wire fence came into view. Two white-suited city workers were rolling out the fence and staking it in the ground. Other workers were scattered around the area, reading maps and plotting out locations. Tom parked on the side of the road and stepped out of the car.  
  
“Excuse me,” he said, walking up to the fence. “What’s going on?”  
  
One of the workers looked up. “We’re setting up a work camp, sir,” he said, tying the fence to a metal stake. “Should be done in about three days. Why? Do you live around here?”  
  
“I do, yes,” he said. “What kind of work camp?”  
  
“The city wants to set up some farmland around here,” the worker said. “There’s not much space in the city, except greenhouses. They’re going to pay people out here to come out and work on it.”  
  
“And when is that going to be?”  
  
“As soon as possible. Probably within a week.”  
  
They hammered down another stake and unrolled another length of fencing. Tom stepped back to his car. When the camp had disappeared in the rearview mirror, he reached for his transmitter. The sun glared directly ahead of him like a warning.  
  
A few days later, a trailer marked _OFFICE_ had appeared in the camp. Not long after, rows of white tents were erected in the camp, flapping and rippling in the wind like white waves. The city cleared off a large section of land and hauled in bags of soil. Work advertisements started to appear on the radio, promising housing and a steady paycheck in exchange for daily farm work. Despite Steve and Kristan’s protests, people traveled from all over Zones One and Two and took a place in the camp. When Kristan drove past the camp one evening, a large bonfire crackled and the tents glowed from within like lanterns.  
  
After some negotiations, Maggie was allowed to sell a wider range of Better Living supplies. The campers lined up at her store after work, their clothes soaked with sweat and their palms caked with dirt. The city installed a vending machine near the entrance. As Tom’s customers dwindled, he was forced to search outside of Zone One for business. Kristan pleaded with listeners every night not to get involved with the city. But so many workers arrived that the city had to order more tents. Once they were even allowed to shoot off fireworks that glittered through the trees.  
  
“Kristan, why the hell do we even bother?” Steve said as they sat on the porch one night. “Nobody takes our station seriously. They’re all fucking off to the city camp.”  
  
“We’ve got listeners,” she said. “I told you that James and Dusty changed their mind after they heard our broadcast.”  
  
“Kristan, that’s two people,” Steve said. “Most people don’t give a shit. I don’t think anyone’s even listening anymore.”  
  
“Steve, come on,” she said. “You know that’s not true.”  
  
“Sure seems that way,” he said. He rubbed his forehead. “You know, sometimes I wonder if we’re doing the right thing,” he said in quietly. “But whenever I think about the city, I just think of Tom lying in your bed, bleeding to death.”  
  
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I know what you mean.”  
  
“I just wish people would see the city for what it really is,” Steve said. “The city’s not doing it for them. They’re probably just using them for cheap labor. Bet they don’t get paid half of what they’d be paid in the city.”  
  
“They don’t let them take the pills, either,” Kristan said.  
  
“Oh yeah?”  
  
“Yeah. Maggie said she’s heard people complaining about it. People were hoping that they could get on the medication, but they still won’t let you take it if you don’t live in the city.”  
  
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Steve said.  
  
Kristan stirred her drink, then sipped it through the straw. The clouds gathered near the horizon were tinted orange. Shadows cast over the mountains.  
  
“I think I’m going to go to bed in a few minutes,” Steve said finally.  
  
“Already?” Kristan said.  
  
“Yup. It’s been a long day.”  
  
Kristan took a long drink, then laid the drink on the table and stood up. She opened the door and followed him inside, quietly closing the door behind them.


	9. Chapter 9

Steve and Kristan sat parked on the side of the road. The highway stretched out in front of them and curved off into the distance. The desert around them was flat, with a carpet of prickly shrubs. Kristan bit her lower lip and drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. She glanced over at Steve, who was cradling his head in his hand.  
  
“What do you think?” she said finally.  
  
Steve looked around and took a deep breath. “Let’s just go,” he said. “I hate that son of a bitch, but I don’t think we’ve got a choice in the matter.”  
  
“You sure?” she said. “If I wait another week, something might come up.”  
  
“No, let’s just go. I don’t think we can wait another week.”  
  
“All right,” she said. She switched on the engine.  
  
“Just cover my ears when he starts ranting,” Steve said. He laughed shortly. “I might be punching a motherfucker before this is over.”  
  
A few minutes later, they pulled up to a shack perched on the side of the road. The aluminum roof glinted in the sunlight like a nickel. Oil drums, scrap metal, and car parts were scattered around the yard. A man with a grizzly white beard held a frying pan over the campfire. When he heard the car engine, he looked up, then flashed a nearly toothless grin and raised a hand.  
  
“Hey, Louie,” Kristan said when they approached him. “How’s it going?”  
  
“Oh, not too bad, not too bad,” he said. “How’s it going in town? Did you guys hear about that camp that’s been set up?”  
  
“Yeah, we heard about it,” she said. “We’ve been telling people to stay away, but they’re not listening to us.”  
  
“Figures,” he said. “You want some jackrabbit? I just killed and butchered it this morning.”  
  
“We’d love some,” Kristan said.  
  
“Great. There’s plates in the kitchen.”  
  
Kristan headed inside and grabbed the plates from the basket beside the counter. Her stomach growled as Louie dished out the juicy, charred meat. They sat in front of the shack, where the overhung roof cast a shade. Prickly pear cacti grew around the foundation of the shack. A circle of blue glass with an eye painted on front hung from the roof like a medallion.  
  
“Did you get some new pans, Louie?” Kristan said. “I saw them in the kitchen.”  
  
“Yeah, I ordered a few from Betty,” he said. “Course, I’m thinking of sending them back. They’re a piece of shit. Food just sticks right to them and won’t come off.”  
  
“So you’re still ordering from Betty?” Kristan said.  
  
“Course I’m still ordering from Betty,” he said. “But let me tell you something. I’m thinking about quitting ever since I heard who they’ve got running the place.”  
  
“Who is it?” Kristan said cautiously.  
  
“Oh, nobody important, just some ruskie they probably snatched off the street.”  
  
Steve and Kristan groaned simultaneously.  
  
“Look, I called them and I got some kid with the thickest Russian accent I’ve ever heard,” he said. “And I said, the fuck you doing here? Was the city taken over by Russia now? First the Japs, now the ruskies? What next, are we going to throw in the fucking krauts, too? Just come in here and take over this whole country.”  
  
“For Christ’s sake, Louie, the Germans and Russians have been here longer than you have,” Steve said. “My aunt knew a German family that’s been here for decades.”  
  
“You remember who we fought in the wars, Stephen?” Louie said. “Because we sure as shit didn’t go out and invade their countries, I’ll tell you that much.”  
  
“We fought soldiers,” Steve said. “We fought a bunch of guys who probably didn’t know what the hell was going on any more than we did.”  
  
“That’s a load of bullshit,” Louie said. “The Helium Wars fucked this country up, I’ll admit that, but we were starting to recover until the krauts and the ruskies decided that round one wasn’t enough. And now the Japs have taken over and made a complete shithole out of this country. I tell you what, Steve, I didn’t fight two wars for this country only to see it taken over by a fucking Jap company.”  
  
“Jesus Christ, Louie,” Kristan said. “Why don't you just move to one of the dead states so you'll never have to meet a Japanese person again?”  
  
“Boy, do I fucking wish,” Louie said. “Why’d you even come out here anyway? You want some of my supplies?”  
  
“Yup,” Kristan said.  
  
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” Louie said. “I’m gonna do it. I know you two don’t give a shit about this country, but just because I fought with Steve, just because he fought for this country even if he doesn’t give two shits where it’s headed now, I’m gonna do it.”  
  
Louie stormed inside, then stuffed a handful of canned food in Steve’s hands. Kristan muttered a thank you and hurried off to the car. The cans rolled around in the backseat as they drove back to the house. Steve watched the desert through the windows, tapping the armrest impatiently.  
  
“God, I’d almost rather starve to death than accept anything from him,” Steve said.  
  
“I hope he pops off soon,” Kristan said. “He’ll probably leave us everything.”  
  
“What makes you think that?” Steve said.  
  
“Well, we’re the only people who still talk to him,” she said. “All his friends have ditched him. I don’t think he has any family still alive.”  
  
Steve laughed shortly. “He’s not going to leave us anything,” he said. “Before he dies, he’ll probably torch the place out of pure spite.”  
  
They returned to the house to find Tom’s white car parked on the side of the road. While Kristan hauled the cans inside, Tom handed Steve a can of Dead Pegasus fuel. The date on the label was recent. Steve turned the can around in his hands, expecting to find some defect, but it looked like it had been pulled directly from a store shelf.  
  
“Where’d you find this?” Steve said.  
  
“I had to do a little black market trading,” Tom said.  
  
Steve raised his eyebrows. “What’d you trade for it?”  
  
“Nothing important.”  
  
“Tom, the fact that you said that makes me think it’s something important.”  
  
Tom laughed despite himself. “I donated blood,” he said.  
  
“Blood?” Steve said. “Are you kidding me?”  
  
“It sells well on the black market,” Tom said. “One donation was enough for three cans of fuel.”  
  
“But you can’t be doing that all the time,” Steve said.  
  
“No, but it’s certainly an option,” he said.  
  
Steve shook his head. “I don’t like this, Tom,” he said. “It’s too risky. I’m willing to bet that whoever took your blood wasn’t a trained medic.”  
  
“She told me she was a former war nurse,” Tom said.  
  
“Yeah. Did she tell you how often you can donate blood?”  
  
“Once a month,” he said.  
  
Steve laughed. “Try once every couple of months,” he said. “And that’s pushing it for someone of your weight. I don’t want you getting involved in this, Tom. You’ve gotta figure something else out.”  
  
“Just take the fuel, Steve,” Tom said.  
  
“I’m taking it, I’m taking it,” he said. “I’m just saying. I don’t want them taking advantage of you and bleeding you dry.”  
  
After he left, Steve headed inside to find Kristan stacking the canned food in the cabinet. He held up the can of fuel. “Well, we’ve got power for another week,” he said, placing it on the kitchen table.  
  
“Did Tom bring that over?” Kristan said.  
  
“Yeah, he did,” Steve said. “He said he had to go to the black market for it. You know what he paid for it?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Blood. He donated blood.”  
  
Kristan turned around and stared at him. “Are you kidding me?” she said.  
  
“Nope,” he said. “Apparently it sells well.”  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Kristan said. She closed the kitchen cabinet. “Steve, we’ve gotta do something.”  
  
“I paid him a little extra,” Steve said. “I don’t think he noticed.”  
  
“Not just that,” she said. “He needs to get some new connections. Everyone’s buying from Maggie now.”  
  
“Well, he could try getting his hands on the stuff that she doesn’t sell,” Steve said. “Like the medication. But I’m sure that costs an arm and a leg.”  
  
Kristan leaned back against the counter and chewed her bottom lip. In an instant, Steve knew they were both thinking the same thing.  
  
“What do you think?” she said. “Do you think Louie would go for it?”  
  
“Not a chance in hell,” Steve said.  
  
“But he said he doesn’t even want to use Betty anymore,” Kristan said. “Maybe Tom could buy the code from him.”  
  
“He didn’t mean that,” Steve said. “He’s just talking shit. There’s no way he’s giving up his city connection.”  
  
“He might,” Kristan said. “If that Russian kid doesn’t go anywhere.”  
  
Steve couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, but don’t forget that Tom’s German,” he said. “There’s no way Louie’s selling anything to him.”  
  
“Does he know that Tom is German?”  
  
“He might. Tom wasn’t exactly shy about giving out his full name when he first came out here.”  
  
“Well, we won’t say who he is. We’ll just call him—what’s that name they call him in town?”  
  
Steve laughed. “He’s going to hate you if you start calling him that.”  
  
“I’m just saying. We’ll tell him, hey, this is our friend. He’s a salesman. People call him Tommy Chow Mein.”  
  
“Good God,” Steve said.  
  
Kristan laughed. “I’m serious, though,” she said. “Look, Louie’s probably not going to use Betty for much longer. If we bring Tom, maybe he can negotiate with him.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Steve said. “I don’t think he’s going to let go of it that easily.”  
  
“Well, we have to do something,” she said. “Because right now everyone’s going to Maggie’s, and he’s stuck giving blood to the black market.”  
  
Steve sighed and looked down at the table. The fuel can sat in front of him, its label bright red.  
  
“All right,” he said. “Let’s call Tom and see what he says.”  
  
Kristan grabbed her transmitter from the counter. Steve watched while she found the frequency, then turned to look out the window, his expression pensive.  
  
\---  
  
“Turn off here,” Steve said. The car bumped and jiggled as Tom pulled off the highway and onto the dirt road. Brambly shrubs and grasses scraped against the side of the car. The road snaked off into the distance like a river through the brush.  
  
“We’re getting close now,” Steve said.  
  
“Are we?” Tom said.  
  
“Yeah. Maybe five more minutes.” Steve paused. “Hey, Tom—listen. If he says something to you, don’t take it personally. This guy’s an asshole. Kristan and I only talk to him because he’s got a supply hook-up.”  
  
Tom laughed to himself. “I know,” he said. “I’ve been in that position.”  
  
“What?” Steve said.  
  
“Tolerating someone because they have supplies,” he said.  
  
Steve laughed. “Yeah, I bet you have,” he said. “That’s like half your job, isn’t it?”  
  
“Half of it,” Tom said. “The other half is selling it to the shady characters that want to buy it.”  
  
Steve laughed again, but his expression dimmed. “Yeah?” he said. “I guess you meet some strangers around here.”  
  
Tom nodded, but didn’t elaborate. After a few moments, Steve said “Turn left up here.”  
  
A few minutes later, they pulled up to the shack. Steve took a deep breath and summoned his patience, then knocked on the door. “Hey, man,” he said. “It’s Steve. I’ve got a friend here who wants to ask you about something.” No response. Steve knocked again. “Hey, man,” he said. “Are you in there?” When no one responded, Steve backed up and scanned the area.  
  
“Well, his car’s still here,” Steve said. “Where the hell is Louie?”  
  
“Maybe a friend picked him up,” Tom said.  
  
“I don’t think he has friends,” Steve said. He knocked on the door again. “Come on, man. Open up. I’ve got a friend here that needs to talk to you.”  
  
No response. Steve tugged on the door handle, but it was locked. “This isn’t like him,” he said.  
  
Tom stepped back. As he scanned the rusted metal and car parts in the grass, something white caught his eye. A piece of plastic glinted several feet from the shack, like a plastic bag from the city. Tom started toward it. As he approached, the glint of white grew larger until he realized it was a large swath of plastic dropped in the grass like an upturned boat. A foul stench rose from the ground. Tom clamped a hand over his nose and mouth. He suddenly felt dizzy, as if a rush of blood had drained from his veins.  
  
Steve’s wheels creaked behind him. “What are you looking at?” he began, then abruptly stopped. He drew in a shaky breath. “Holy shit,” he said.  
  
A white body bag lay in the grass. The front was stamped with the Better Living logo. Flies buzzed around the plastic. Tom looked back at Steve, his face white. He covered his face and took slow, deep breaths, then lowered his hands. His extremities felt tingly and numb.  
  
“Where’s the code?” he said. His voice wavered. “Is it in the house?”  
  
“Tom,” Steve said quietly. “It’s around his neck. He wore it with his dog tags.”  
  
A shiver of nausea crossed his face. He covered his mouth with his hand, then turned back to the body bag. The white plastic rustled in the wind.  
  
“It’s okay, Tom,” Steve said. “We’ll get somebody else out here. You don’t have to do it.”  
  
“I can’t trust another person,” Tom said.  
  
He slowly knelt down in the sand, the grasses crunching beneath him, then looked up at the sky. His face was white.  
  
“God forgive me,” he said.  
  
He crossed himself, his hands trembling, then pulled down the zipper. The stench hit him in the face like a burst of gas. He turned away and gagged reflexively. Willing himself not to vomit, he found the silver chain and tugged it off the body, then stumbled to his feet and staggered to the car. He opened the door and leaned against it, his head spinning. The chain dangled from his hand.  
  
Eventually, Steve’s wheelchair creaked behind him. “You okay, Tom?” he said.  
  
Tom looked up, then nodded. “I’ll be fine,” he said with his eyes lowered.  
  
“You sure? You’re white as a sheet.”  
  
He nodded again, then reached inside and switched on the ignition. He tucked the chain inside his jacket. The chain weighed against him as he drove back to the house, a constant reminder like a wound that wouldn’t heal.  
  
As soon as Tom dropped him off at the house, Steve radioed Kristan. She returned half an hour later. Her hair was tucked back in a bandana, her hands stained with oil and grease. She dropped her toolbox on the kitchen counter. “I stopped by at Maggie’s,” she said. “She called around and I think she figured out what happened.”  
  
“So what happened?” Steve said.  
  
“The city says they were just doing routine environmental testing around his property,” she said, taking off her jacket. “He didn’t like it, he got violent, and they ended up shooting him in self-defense.”  
  
Steve laughed humorlessly. “You know, I don’t believe most of the city’s bullshit, but that’s one story I could actually see being true,” he said. “He probably barged out there, guns blazing. I bet he thought he could take them all on.”  
  
“I know,” she said. “Maggie said we better get out there if we want to take anything. It’s only a matter of time before word gets out and people raid the place.”  
  
“Better get it over with, then,” Steve said.  
  
But neither of them moved. Kristan leaned against the counter, her head bowed. After a few moments, she picked up her toolbox. “How was Tom doing when he left?” she said, opening the closet.  
  
“He was still shook up,” Steve said. “But I think he’ll be okay. Just needs some time to shake it off.”  
  
“Yeah?” Kristan said. She stood on her tip-toes and pushed the toolbox onto the top shelf. It scraped in among their other possessions: old glass jars, folded clothes, a rolled-up quilt with a star pattern in the middle.  
  
That evening, Tom sat at the desk in his motel room. The light was thin and greyish through the window, with the last orange rays of sunlight dusting the tops of the trees. He switched on his transmitter and turned it to the frequency written on the tag. The chain lay on the desk in front of him, with _LOUIS PICKETT_ printed on one of the tags in raised letters.  
  
“Hello?” Tom said uncertainly.  
  
After rustling static, a voice said “ _State your code_.”  
  
Tom tilted the tag toward the window so that it caught the light. “B-E-5-3-7-2-T,” he read aloud.  
  
Something rustled in the background, followed by a clicking sound. Then the voice started to give instructions. Tom straightened up in his seat, listening intently as the sun sank behind the mountains.


	10. Chapter 10

Kristan dropped a basket of potatoes and onions on the store counter. Maggie looked up in surprise. “Well, I haven’t seen you in a while,” she said as she started totaling the items. “Goodness, I think it’s been a couple of months, at least.”  
  
“Yeah, we’ve been busy,” Kristan said, leaning against the counter. “Is this all from the camp?”  
  
“Yes ma’am. Grown right here in Zone One.”  
  
Maggie smiled her. Kristan smiled back, then looked away. Outdated city publications lined the magazine rack. One magazine bore the headline _New Upgrades in Android Technology._  
  
“How’s it going at the camp?” Kristan said.  
  
“Oh, it’s going fine,” Maggie said. “I don’t keep up with these things, mind you, but I think it’s going well. The only complaint I’ve heard is that they lowered the wages a bit.”  
  
“Did they?” Kristan said.  
  
“Yes. Apparently there were budget cuts. I guess anything outside the city is going to be the first to be hit.”  
  
Kristan paid for the vegetables and drove home. She sliced up the vegetables and dropped them in a pot of stew along with scraps of rabbit meat. As she stirred the pot, the smell of hearty broth wafted up along with the steam. Her stomach rumbled as she wiped her hands on a towel.  
  
“Jesus Christ, that smells good,” Steve said from the table, where he was sewing fur lining inside a jacket. “How soon until it’s ready?”  
  
“Probably about ten more minutes,” Kristan said. She tapped the spoon against the edge of the pot and sat down, reaching for the pair of socks she was repairing. They sewed for a while until someone knocked on the door. Kristan opened the door to find Tom standing outside.  
  
“Hey, Tom,” she said.  
  
He handed her the can of fuel they’d ordered. “I need to talk to you,” he said. He stepped into the kitchen, where the smell of the stew filled the air. “Have you bought any food that came from the camp recently?”  
  
“I just bought vegetables today,” Kristan said. “Why?”  
  
“Have you eaten any of it?”  
  
She exchanged a glance with Steve. “Not yet,” she said. “I just started the stew about twenty minutes ago. Why?”  
  
Tom wordlessly gestured to the basket of vegetables on the counter. Kristan looked at him oddly, then handed it to him. He took out the radiation detector that Steve had given him and held it over the basket, then showed them the readout. Kristan’s brow furrowed. She took the detector and tried it herself, but the readout didn’t change.  
  
“What the hell is going on?” she said.  
  
“I just heard this from one of my sources,” Tom said. “The city’s been using contaminated soil. Apparently one of their workers signed off on it without testing it. They’ve been using it from the beginning.”  
  
Steve stared at him. “Are you serious?” he said. “So that means this food’s contaminated?”  
  
“Yes, it does,” Tom said. “They’ve done tests on it. My sources, I mean, not the city. I think the city’s trying to keep the news from getting out.”  
  
“Well, we better say something,” he said. “Kristan, you want to do an emergency broadcast?”  
  
“Who’s going to hear us?” Kristan said. “The camp probably doesn’t let them listen to our station.”  
  
“Yeah. True.” Steve looked up at the ceiling in thought. “Maybe we should just go up there. Take a radiation detector and show them what’s going on.”  
  
“Do you think we’ll be able to get in?” she said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve got us blacklisted.”  
  
“It’s worth a shot,” he said. “If not, we’ll just have to do a broadcast and hope someone listens. The word’ll get out sooner or later.”  
  
“We better tell Maggie, too,” Kristan said.  
  
“Yeah, you’re right. Don’t let me forget that. All right, let’s get out of here. Are you coming with us, Tom?”  
  
He shook his head. “I’ve got a supply pick-up,” he said.  
  
While Steve headed to the bedroom to change, Kristan looked back at the pot of stew on the hot plate. She sighed, cradling her head in her hand. “Do you think it’d be dangerous to eat that?” she said. “I’ve been craving stew all day.”  
  
Tom glanced at the stew, then looked at her reluctantly. “One meal wouldn’t kill you,” he said. “But I wouldn’t recommend it. We’re already exposed to radiation from other sources.”  
  
Kristan watched the stew for a long time, as if the radiation would boil away with the steam. But when Steve wheeled back into the kitchen, she trudged to the counter, then dumped the stew in the garbage bucket.  
  
When they reached Maggie’s store, a crowd had formed around the entrance. They pushed their way inside, where several people were arguing at the front desk. Maggie’s face was red and flustered. “The hell’s going on here?” Steve said over the commotion.  
  
“The supply shipment’s late,” one of the women said. “Again. And of course, she doesn’t know what’s going on.”  
  
“Hey, don’t blame her,” Steve said. “Blame the city. She doesn’t control this shit.”  
  
He tried to argue, but the woman had already turned back to Maggie. After a few failed attempts to get Maggie’s attention, they moved off to the side and waited. Kristan flipped through the stack of folded clothes, then folded her arms and waited. The cabinet that held medical supplies was empty except for a few rolls of gauze. The bucket that normally held soup bones was bare. Even the magazine rack had dwindled to a few copies.  
  
Eventually, the arguing died down and a few customers wandered out of the store, muttering among themselves. “Hey, Maggie?” Kristan said, approaching the desk. “Steve and I need to talk to you.”  
  
“What is it?” she said, mopping her forehead with a bandana. “Make it quick, sweetheart.”  
  
“I’m not sure where to start,” Kristan said. She toyed with the radiation detector. “We just talked to a friend of ours. He gets news from the city sometimes. And he, uh…he just found out that the soil that they’re using in the work camp is contaminated.”  
  
Maggie looked up. “Contaminated?” she said. “What—you mean with radiation?”  
  
“Yeah,” Kristan said. “And it’s affected the food. Here—”  
  
She grabbed a handful of green onions and scanned them with the detector, then showed Maggie the readout. Maggie covered her mouth with her hand. The few remaining customers looked at them in shock.  
  
“Wait,” a woman said. “That food’s contaminated? Are you saying we’ve all got radiation poisoning?”  
  
“No, no,” Steve said. “A few vegetables won’t do it. You just don’t want to keep eating it. This shit builds up in your system.”  
  
“I’m so sorry,” Maggie said, wringing her hands. “Oh, I had no idea. I never would have sold it if I’d known.”  
  
“I know,” Kristan said quickly. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”  
  
“What are we supposed to do?” the woman said. “I just bought five carbs’ worth of vegetables yesterday.”  
  
“If I were you, I’d throw it out,” Steve said. “I know it’s hard, but that shit’s not good for you.”  
  
“Well, do we get a refund?” she said. “I think we should get a refund since she sold us contaminated food.”  
  
“I’ll try to refund you,” Maggie said. “I can’t make any promises, but—oh, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe this. Normally I check everything, but since the city ordered it, I thought it’d be safe—”  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Kristan said. “Just don’t sell any more of it, okay? Tell the city you won’t buy anything from the work camp.”  
  
Maggie was radioing the city when they left. The sun was starting to sink behind the mountains. Aside from a few people walking down the old sidewalks, the street was empty. People hung blankets over their windows and brought their children inside. Small fires crackled in the fire pits.  
  
“You know, I’m kind of hesitant to leave her alone back there,” Steve said. “You think people are going to get pissed at her when the news gets out?”  
  
“Probably,” Kristan said. “Think we should call the camp?”  
  
“Yeah. I’ll radio Tim. See if he and a couple of the guys can come out here.”  
  
Steve grabbed the transmitter from the glove compartment and radioed the veterans camp. By the time the call was over, they’d reached the work camp. Several people looked up and waved as they headed for the bonfire. The campers draped blankets over their tents to protect them from the wind. Boxes, crates, scrap metal, old furniture, and debris littered the ground. A bonfire crackled in the center of the camp, surrounded by people cooking food and lounging in lawn chairs. They smiled and greeted Kristan and Steve as they approached.  
  
Kristan smiled back. Suddenly she realized that she had no idea what to say. “Hey!” she said. “How’s it going?”  
  
“Oh, not too bad,” said a man in a pair of overalls. He rubbed his calloused hands with aloe vera. “How’s it going with you?”  
  
“Not too bad,” she said. She looked down and fiddled with the detector, then held it up. “Have you guys ever seen one of these?”  
  
A few people looked up. “Looks like a radiation detector,” the man said.  
  
“That’s right,” she said. “A friend of ours came over today. Right after we’d just bought a bunch of food from the farm. He said that we needed to test it for radiation.”  
  
“Why’d he say that?” said a woman in a sun hat.  
  
She took a deep breath. “Word is that the city’s been using contaminated soil,” she said.  
  
The quiet conversation around the campfire abruptly trickled off. People looked up and peered at Kristan around the campfire. The man in the overalls stopped rubbing his hands mid-stroke. He tilted his head back and lowered his hands.  
  
“What exactly are you saying?” he said.   
  
“Here,” Kristan said. “I’ll show you. Are those potatoes from the camp?” She nodded toward a basket of potatoes near a woman’s feet. When she nodded, Kristan said “Can I see them? I won’t take any. I promise.”  
  
The basket was passed around the campfire until it reached her. Steve held the basket while she scanned it with the detector. She showed the readout to the nearest campers. They sucked in their breath and looked around in surprise. The word traveled around the campfire like a ripple of water across a lake.  
  
“Maybe your detector’s busted,” a woman said. “Mine was doing the same thing until it got rid of it. Said everything I touched was radioactive.”  
  
“Nah, it’s working,” Steve said. “See? It’s normal now. But it flips to the right when she holds it over the food.”  
  
“Yeah, we’ve tested this food in three different places, and got the same result,” Kristan said. “If you’ve got your own meters, you can test it yourself.”  
  
“Maybe we’ll make the city test it,” the woman said.  
  
Steve laughed. “I don’t think you’d get accurate results from them,” he said.  
  
A buzz had started to travel around the campfire. People started to stand up and remove their pots and skewers from the fire. The man in the overalls climbed to his feet and announced that he was headed to the management office. A few people offered to join him. Others picked up the food in their baskets and studied it as if they expected to see parasites crawling on the surface.  
  
“Are you that gal that’s always on the radio in town?” said a woman. Her face was as wrinkled as a rotting potato. “DJ Hot Chimp?”  
  
Kristan grinned. “Yeah, that’s me,” she said. “Did you recognize my voice?”  
  
“I’m afraid I did,” she said. “You two are always stirring up trouble. How do we know that you’re telling the truth about this?”  
  
The smile slid off Kristan’s face. “We’re telling the truth, ma’am,” she said. “We bought food grown in the camp, too. We wouldn’t lie about this.”  
  
“I don’t believe that,” she said, setting aside the onion she had been peeling. “People are always finding some way to criticize the city. They say it’s too boring or they don’t like the work hours or the city doesn’t pay them enough. Well, I lived through two wars, and I can tell you that what the city’s doing is a damn sight better than—”  
  
Her words were suddenly drowned out by the sound of a car pulling up behind them. Steve and Kristan turned around, then stopped. A hush fell over the camp. A white car parked in front of the bonfire, its headlights shining through the growing darkness. The engine rumbled quietly like a machine buried underground. Two Draculoids stepped out of the car. Kristan reached for her ray gun.  
  
“Good evening,” one of the Dracs said. “We’ve gotten reports of some suspicious activity.”  
  
Kristan held the Drac’s gaze through the mask. Some campers retreated to their tents, while others slowly climbed to their feet, casting a long shadow across the firelit ground. The entire camp seemed to be tensed and coiled, the air bristling with nervous energy.  
  
The Drac’s shoes crunched on the sand as he walked up to the fire. “We heard that there’s been some story going around about the soil being contaminated,” he said. “We just want to set the record straight. That story is completely false. There’s no record of contaminated soil—or food, or water, or whatever—ever being used in Battery City.”  
  
“Look, if you don’t believe us, check the food yourselves,” Steve said. “The meter goes straight up, every time. That’s not a coincidence.”  
  
“We have checked our food,” the Drac said. “We’ve done countless tests, and they’ve all shown up clean—”  
  
“Let us see the records,” a girl interrupted.  
  
“They’re available in the office,” he said.  
  
“Whenever we ask, she tells us that we can’t see ‘em,” she said.  
  
“Well, she’s lying to you.”  
  
“How do we know those records are accurate?” said a man with a gravelly voice. “How do we know you’re not just bullshitting them?”  
  
The Drac turned to face him. “Sir, I promise that they’re accurate,” he said. “We’re not paying our researchers for inaccuracies.”  
  
“Do you pay them at all, or do you short-change them like you do us?”  
  
Angry shouts rose from around the campfire. Kristan stepped back, her hand wrapped around the gun handle. Sweat formed on the back of her neck. The second Draculoid raised his hands and stepped forward.  
  
“All right, let’s keep it calm over here,” he said. “If you’ve got a problem, take it up with management.”  
  
But shouts were rising across the camp. The Drac tried to speak again, but the shouts and protests drowned him out. He exchanged glances with his partner. One of the Dracs quietly spoke into his transmitter before they both reached for their guns.  
  
A blast suddenly rang out. The laser whizzed through the air and disappeared into the darkness. For several moments, no one moved. The Dracs gazed in the direction that the laser had flown before turning back to the crowd. Kristan shakily slipped her ray gun out from inside her jacket. The Dracs’ eyes were shadowed behind the masks, like caverns trailing off into blackness.


	11. Chapter 11

Tom pulled up to the abandoned car wash and stepped out of the car. The sun cast a hard light over the graffiti-covered walls. He glanced around the area, then took out his ray gun and crept into the third stall. A cardboard box was hidden in the shadows. He crouched down and opened the box with his pocketknife, revealing candles, a ball of string, scissors, a box of matches. A package of blood pressure medication sat on top of the matches—a special order for a customer, worth twenty carbons alone. He tucked the pills inside his jacket and stood up.  
  
The sun disappeared behind a cloud, the light flaring around the edges. He carried the box to his car and tucked it in the back of his trunk. An evening breeze was starting to rustle through the grasses. He locked the trunk and looked back at the desert. The mountains were dusky orange, with jagged shadows that cut through the rocks and crevices. The empty highway trailed off toward the horizon. He watched the scene for a moment, then opened the car door.  
  
Suddenly there was a murmur in the distance. He stopped and looked up. Heat rose from the pavement in waves, distorting the horizon. A flash of white floated and shimmered in the haze. Tom gripped the car door. As it drew closer, the haze solidified into a white vehicle, with two headlights glaring through the dimming light.  
  
His heart pounding, Tom jumped into the car and slammed the door. He switched on the ignition, but the car was already pulling up behind him. The headlights flashed on the back windshield like a pair of eyes. He closed his eyes, then switched off the ignition. A Draculoid stepped out of the car and walked up to him, reflected in the rearview mirror. The familiar fear washed over him like a scene from a recurring nightmare.  
  
The Drac tapped on the window with her knuckles. “Step out of the car, please,” she said.  
  
He shakily stepped out of the car. The Drac’s mask was askew, as if she had hurriedly pulled it on before climbing out of the car. Her partner rolled down the window of their vehicle and stuck his head out.  
  
“Boy, you’re in trouble, kiddo,” he said.  
  
The Drac laughed, his partner turning and laughing with him. Tom stepped back against the car. His back hit the rearview mirror. The Draculoid loomed over him, casting a long shadow over the highway. The mouth of the mask was red with fake painted blood.  
  
“All right,” she said. “What the hell are you doing here?”  
  
“I’m on my way to Greenberry,” Tom said, rubbing a hand across his face. “I stopped to take a call on my transmitter—”  
  
“Bullshit,” she said. “You want to try it again?”  
  
“A customer called, wanting to know if I had any food in stock—”  
  
“One more lie and you’re toast, kiddo,” she said. “You’re just racking up points with the big man.”  
  
Tom lowered his hand and looked up at her. The empty black eye sockets of the mask gazed back.  
  
“I’m on my way to Greenberry,” he said. “That’s it. If you search my car, you’ll find nothing but a box of supplies I picked up in Cherryville—”  
  
She slammed his head against the side of the car. Tom stumbled back, clutching his head. Pain shot through his skull. The Drac grabbed his arm and forced him upright, then pushed him back against the car.  
  
“I told you, kiddo,” she said. “You’re just racking up points with the big man. Every lie, every bullshit story you tell, he’s going to know about it.”  
  
“Grant’s gonna beat your ass when we get back, sport,” her partner called from the car.  
  
“He’s not joking,” she said. “But you can make it easier on yourself. You want to tell me where the supplies are?”  
  
His head throbbed like an open wound, but when he pulled his hand away, there was no blood. “They’re in the trunk,” he said, hating himself.  
  
She released him and walked over to the trunk. “Unlock it,” she said. “Let’s see what’s inside.”  
  
He unlocked the trunk and stood back. She hauled out the box and searched through the supplies. “Yup,” she said. “Matches, string, candles, all with Bat City packaging. All straight from the city.” She closed the trunk and carried the box over to her partner, who tucked the box between the front seats.  
  
“What’s the plan, ma’am?” her partner said.  
  
“We’ll take him to Grant,” she said. “He’ll know what to do with him. I don’t even know what they do with little shits like this.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll find something to do with him,” he said, loud enough that Tom was in earshot. “Maybe knock him around a little, see what he’s got rattling around in that brain of his.”  
  
“You really think so, Bruce?” she said, playing along.  
  
“No, but I’ve got it on good authority that his ass is grass if he fucks with us again.”  
  
The Drac laughed with her partner, then grabbed Tom by the arm and dragged him over to the car. She pushed him into the backseat, flopped down beside him, and slammed the door. Her partner switched on the ignition. The engine hummed to life with a quiet, unfamiliar purr. As he started down the highway, she leaned forward and folded her arms on the back of his seat.  
  
“I think you’re driving a little too fast there, sir,” she said in a falsely serious voice.  
  
“Shut the fuck up,” he said, laughing.  
  
“I’m serious,” she said. “I think this might be grounds for your termination.”  
  
“Fuck off,” he said, still laughing. “You’re not terminating shit.”  
  
“I am terminating shit. Your shit is terminal.”  
  
“What does that even mean?” He swatted at her. “Get back. I’m serious. You’re distracting me.”  
  
She slumped back against the backseat, then stretched out her legs and rested her feet on the back of his seat. She glanced over at Tom. His throat suddenly felt tight, as if she’d wrapped her hands around his windpipe.  
  
“You nervous there, buddy?” she said.  
  
Tom didn’t respond. His breathing was rough and shaky. She reached over and clapped him on the arm.  
  
“Hey, chill out over there,” she said. “Don’t have a fucking panic attack.”  
  
Her partner adjusted the rearview mirror. “Is he panicking back there?” he said.  
  
“Looks like it,” she said. “Hey. Just breathe. Breathe through your nose.”  
  
“Yeah, calm the fuck down back there,” he said. “Don’t give us a medical emergency. I am not a medic.”  
  
Their words seemed vague and distant, as if they were speaking through a dream. Panic rose inside him like a rising wave. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to jump to his feet, to throw himself out of the car and run, but the Draculoid’s stare held him back. The desert whipped past the car at an almost frantic speed, urging the panic along, like a visualization of his racing mind.  
  
“Just take deep breaths,” the Drac said, then turned back to her partner. She kicked the back of his seat. “Hey,” she said. He ignored her. She kicked again. “Hey. Bruce.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Let’s get dinner after this. I’m so fucking hungry.”  
  
“I’m not hungry,” he said.  
  
“Bullshit, you’re not hungry,” she said. “All you had was a cup of rice!”  
  
“I’m still not hungry,” he said.  
  
As they discussed their dinner plans, streaks of orange and pink crept across the sky. The sun flared bright orange before disappearing behind the mountains. Darkness settled over the valley. Tom forced himself to remain still, but his insides seared as if they were on fire. The darkness seemed to be creeping into his bones, smothering him like a thick curtain.  
  
“God, I hate driving at night,” said the Drac in the front seat. “You never know what kind of freaks are going to be roaming about.”  
  
“Last night I almost hit a whole group of waveheads, just stretched out on the road,” his partner said.  
  
“Are you shitting me?”  
  
“Nope,” she said. “Just lying there like roadkill. I guess they think they’re getting high off the moon now.”  
  
“They’re not getting high off shit,” he said. He poked a straw through his mask and sipped from a water bottle, then lowered it and peered at the dashboard. “Oh, shit,” he said. “Today’s Tuesday, isn’t it?”  
  
“You’re goddamn right,” she said.  
  
“I’ve got an evaluation tomorrow,” he said. He searched through the glove compartment and pulled out a handbook. “Here. Help me study this shit.”  
  
“The hell am I supposed to do?”  
  
“Just read the questions in the back,” he said. He held the handbook out to her. “Here. Take it. Start quizzing me on this shit.”  
  
She flipped to the back of the book and started quizzing him on protocol. With her attention turned away from him, Tom racked his brain desperately. His ray gun was hidden back in his car. The back doors of Draculoid squad cars only unlocked from the outside. He could try to run as soon as they brought him outside, but how long would it be before they overpowered him? He looked up at the ceiling and thought desperately of God. The Draculoids’ voices beside him seemed horribly alien, as if they lived in separate worlds.  
  
Suddenly he thought of the pills tucked inside his jacket. _Don’t give us a medical emergency_ , one of the Dracs had said. _I am not a medic_. A fresh burst of fear coursed through his veins. But he didn’t have time to argue with himself. When both Draculoids were distracted, he swallowed a few of the pills. The medication stuck in his dry throat. He disguised it with coughing as he choked it down.  
  
“Hey, calm the fuck down over there,” the Drac said. She swatted at him with the handbook.  
  
“Yeah, you’re interrupting my studies,” her partner said. “I have to say, I think you’re being a bit rude.”  
  
“You don’t have studies,” she said. “You just memorize a bunch of shit and then forget it all the next day.”  
  
“Hey, that’s a bit hurtful,” he said. “I think you could be a little more supportive of my endeavors.”  
  
“Shut the fuck up, Bruce,” she said, then flipped to the next page in the handbook. “All right, answer me this. What do you do if someone leaves a suspicious package outside the outpost?”  
  
The minutes blinked by on the clock readout on the dashboard. The dashboard cast a bluish glow over the inside of the car, as if they were underwater. The first stars had appeared in the sky when Tom started to feel lightheaded. A faint buzzing sounded in his ears. He reached for the door to hold his balance, suddenly dizzy.  
  
“What’s up with you?” the Drac said. She stopped. “Hey. You don’t look good.”  
  
“You should have found me earlier,” Tom said. His voice sounded far away.  
  
“What the hell does that mean?”  
  
Blearily, he lifted his head. “I’ve been outside the Zones,” he said. “It was a week ago. I left, and when I came back, I started feeling sick…”  
  
The words hung in the air like a hovering cloud. The Drac stared at him. The engine hummed almost silently in front of them.  
  
“No,” she said. “There’s no way. There is no fucking way that we picked up a fucking heater.”  
  
“The fuck’s going on back there?” said the Drac at the front.  
  
“He just said he’s been outside the Zones,” she said. “He’s probably got radiation poisoning.”  
  
“Oh, there is no fucking way!” the Drac said. “He was fine just a minute ago!”  
  
“He had trouble breathing when we first picked him up,” she said.  
  
“Shit,” he said. “You’re right.” He kneaded his forehead through the mask. “What’s his pulse? Check his pulse.”  
  
She pushed up Tom’s sleeve and grabbed his wrist. “His pulse is weak,” she said. “Blood pressure probably dropped.”  
  
“We can’t take him to Grant like this,” her partner said. “If he gets one that just drops dead in front of him, he’s going to go apeshit.”  
  
“I know,” she said.  
  
“We can’t treat this shit, can we? Not at this stage?”  
  
Tom strained to listen, but their voices started to blur together. The buzzing grew louder like the roar of a drill. He reached blindly for something to hold his balance. Then the world slipped and tipped out from under him. His vision blurred to an indeterminable fog. Voices swam in and out of his awareness. Thoughts stirred in the back of his mind, but his body felt as heavy and immovable as a stone at the bottom of a river.  
  
Hands grabbed at his neck, touched his forehead. After an indeterminable amount of time, he was vaguely aware of movement beneath him. Something hard smacked against his back. His head swarmed with static. Voices shouted around him, but they were still too foggy to make out. The world was swallowed in a formless, buzzing void, as if he had tipped back into another reality.  
  
A hand tugged at his wrist. He tried to lift his head, but something dimmed in the back of his head, like a stage light winking out, and he fell back against the ground again. The buzzing droned on. Plastic crinkled nearby.  
  
\---  
  
Tom’s head throbbed with a sharp, aching pain, like a railroad spike through his skull. He sucked in a lungful of stale air, then coughed. He opened his eyes. White plastic surrounded him like a cocoon. The panic suddenly fired to life, burning like a roaring bonfire. He scratched and clawed at the plastic, coughing in the expiring air, but the plastic was hard like rubber. With a burst of relief, he suddenly remembered his pocketknife. He hacked at the plastic until it ripped and stretched, then pushed and clawed out until he was gasping lungfuls of fresh, cool air.  
  
He bent over the ground until his breathing started to return to normal. Once the panic had drained away, he gagged himself until he retched in the sand. He shakily climbed to his feet and pushed the wet hair back from his face. The air felt cool against his sweaty skin. His head pounded with a raw ache, like every drop of moisture had been sucked from his body.  
  
He took off his jacket and folded it over his arm, then scanned the area. The landscape looked vaguely familiar, but the darkness obscured any specific features. He fished a compass out of his pocket and started down the road. His head throbbed with every step. The desert that seemed so wide and open in the daytime appeared thick and clustered at night, the shrubs and bushes huddled together like animals. Joshua trees loomed against the sky like ancient statues.   
  
He coughed, acid burning at the back of his throat. A sliver of a moon hung in the sky like a lamp hidden in shadow. His feet were starting to throb when the smell of smoke floated along the wind. He stopped and peered off into the distance. A campfire meant civilization. But if he followed the smoke, he might wander right into a nest of Dracs. He pushed his hair back, looking up at the sky, then crept off into the brush. Dry grasses crunched under his feet. Prickly shrubs snagged around his ankles. He darted behind the trees and boulders, ducking under the shadows, until a spark of light flashed in the air.  
  
An orange spark flitted in the wind like a firefly. Tom reached out and caught it in his hand. The spark immediately blackened and withered. As he moved closer, more embers floated through the air. The wind was thick with the acrid smell of smoke. He crept behind a hill of boulders, then peered out at the horizon. Suddenly he went numb. Cold fear seized his body and gripped him like a vise.  
  
The work camp was ablaze. Tents blackened and collapsed under the yellowish-white flames. Shouts rose from the distance. Tom stumbled backward, his mind racing. His first instinct was to run to town, but Draculoids could be stationed there. He looked around wildly. He checked his compass, then turned and darted off through the grasses like a jackrabbit. Pain shot through the tendons in his legs, but he dashed through the plain, his lungs aching from the cold air. The wind whipped through his hair. He ran until a stitch burned in his side, then slowed to a walk, clutching his side and gasping.  
  
Tall grasses brushed against his knees. He wove through the plain until he heard the sound of trickling water. In the night, the stream looked like a river of black glass. He followed the stream and cut over to the road, then walked down the highway until a light glowed in the distance. As he moved closer, Steve and Kristan’s house came into view. A candlelight glowed in the window. Waves of relief washed over him. He climbed up the steps, wincing at the ache in his legs, and knocked on the door.  
  
The door burst open. Kristan stood inside, her face streaked with tears. In an instant, her expression melted from anger to relief. “Oh, thank God,” she said, ushering him inside. “Come on, Tom. Get in.” She slammed and locked the door behind him. Steve sat at the kitchen table, which was piled with boxes of supplies: old clothes, books, canned food, candles. The closet door was open. Dust motes swirled in the air.  
  
“Jesus, Tom, what happened to you?” Steve said. “You look dehydrated.”  
  
“I’ll tell you about it later,” he said. “What’s going on? What happened to the camp?”  
  
“The Dracs torched the place,” Kristan burst out. “And now they’re making us leave.”  
  
Tom’s eyes widened. “The Dracs did that?” he said.  
  
“Oh, yeah. They showed up, got into a huge fight with everyone, and started shooting at the tents. They caught fire, and now the whole fucking place is going to burn to the ground.”  
  
“Why were they there?” he said. “What were they arguing about?”  
  
“It’s the radiation,” she said. “We told Maggie about it, and she must’ve called the city, because they showed up not half an hour later.”  
  
“She called the Dracs on you?” Tom said.  
  
“No, no,” she said. “She just asked them what was going on. Of course, they denied it. So they showed up when Steve and I were there and said nothing happened, the soil is fine, blah blah blah. We told them about the meter, but they just kept repeating this bullshit about how the soil was tested and it came up clean.”  
  
“But the camp wasn’t buying it,” Steve said, hauling the bucket of water out from under the counter. “People started arguing with them. They started getting angry, wanting to know some answers. Finally someone just took out a gun and fired into the air. Of course, the Dracs didn’t like that.”  
  
“And that’s how it started?” Tom said. He took the glass of water Steve handed him.  
  
“Yup,” Steve said. “Kristan and I got the hell out of there. We later heard on the radio that the camp had caught fire. And then, after that, the city announced that they were cutting off supplies again.”  
  
“So people rioted in town,” Kristan said. “We heard on the radio that they were throwing things, breaking windows.”  
  
“Somebody broke into Maggie’s store and just started handing her supplies out to people,” Steve said. “It was anarchy. We heard it took three Drac units just to round the place up.”  
  
“So now the town’s destroyed,” Tom said.  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Kristan said. “They’re making us leave.”  
  
“What?” he said. “Leave Greenberry?”  
  
“Yup,” she said. “All of us. They said we’re a danger to the city. They just came by and told us to pack up our shit and leave.”  
  
Tom didn’t respond. He looked from Kristan to Steve in shock.  
  
“Yup, it’s true,” Steve said. “The whole town’s being cleared out, including the houses on the outskirts. I’m betting your place is included in this, too. It’s everything within a ten-mile radius.”  
  
“They said they can’t trust us,” Kristan said, her eyes growing wet again. “They said we’re too close to the city. We’re too dangerous. So they’re forcing us all to just pack up and leave.”  
  
“Where are we going?” Tom said. “Where could we go? Towns like Cherryville can’t take this many people.”  
  
“They’re splitting up,” Steve said. “Half the town’s going up to Zone Two, they said there’s a big settlement out there. The other half’s going to some town about twenty miles east.”  
  
“That’s where we’re going,” Kristan said. “I think you should come with us. People have radioed ahead, they said they’ll take as many as they can.”  
  
Tom looked up at the ceiling and tried to steady himself. “I’ll need someone to drive me to Highway E,” he said. “My car’s out there, if it hasn’t been stripped yet.”  
  
“Your car?” Steve said. “What happened to you, Tom? Did you get stranded?”   
  
After some hesitation, he told them the story. Kristan covered her hand with her mouth, while Steve leaned forward, his brow furrowed with concern. When they heard about the Dracs’ behavior, they exchanged looks of shock and disgust. Steve shook his head. At the end of the story, a shadow passed over his face.  
  
“All right, wait,” Steve said. “You’re telling me you took these pills and you blacked out?”  
  
“His blood pressure probably plummeted,” Kristan said.  
  
“Yeah, I know, but what happened before you blacked out?”  
  
Tom rubbed his neck. His hair felt wet and limp as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. “I started to feel lightheaded,” he said. “My vision blurred, I started losing my balance…”  
  
“And you woke up with a killer headache?”  
  
“Yes, I did.”  
  
“Probably because he was dehydrated,” Kristan said.  
  
“Yeah, I know, but—Tom, it sounds to me like you ODed,” Steve said.  
  
“I what?” Tom said.  
  
“ODed,” he said. “Overdosed. Tom, you’re lucky to be up and walking right now. If one thing had been different, that could’ve killed you.”  
  
Tom lowered his hand and looked at him. The entire room was silent.  
  
After a few moments, Steve sighed heavily. “Come on,” he said. “You better sit down. You look like you’re about to fall over.”  
  
They hauled the supplies into the trunk of the car. Kristan crammed as much radio equipment as she could into the backseat. After a few minutes of arguing, Tom reluctantly agreed to let the veterans pick up his car and his belongings from the motel. Neither Steve nor Kristan thought he was in any shape to drive. They drove until they reached a line of vehicles cruising down the highway. Kristan joined the end of the line. The car’s headlights shined on the back of the pick-up truck in front of them.  
  
“I remember this,” Kristan said. Her voice was steady, but her eyes brimmed with tears. “God, that’s one thing I didn’t miss about the camp. I got so tired of just driving around for hours.”  
  
“At least we’re organized this time,” Steve said. “I don’t think we’ll end up nearly driving into a lake like we did with Julie and her crew.”  
  
Kristan laughed shortly. “Yeah,” she said. “We better not.”  
  
She sniffed and wiped her eyes, then fiddled with the radio. A few stations played tinny music, but the rest crackled with static. She sighed and switched the radio off.  
  
“Man, I hope the city didn’t scare everybody off,” Steve said. “Just when people were starting to use their radios, too.”  
  
Kristan didn’t respond. She gazed at the back of the truck in front of them. Striped pillows were piled against the window. She wondered if children were sleeping inside. The shrill song of insects hummed outside the car, like an engine pulsing in the grasses.  



	12. Chapter 12

Kristan climbed out of the tent when the sky was still dark blue. A few people were already stirring around the camp, collecting pots and searching for kindling. She cleared off a patch of land, then gathered twigs and dry grasses. Birds chirped and fluttered around the tree branches. By the time the fire was built, the sky had lightened to a watery grey. She unfolded a few lawn chairs and sat down, prodding the fire with a stick.  
  
Tom stepped out of his car, wincing a little at the sunlight. Kristan raised a hand in greeting. “Hey, Tom,” she said, gripping the stick like a cane. “How’re you feeling?”  
  
“I feel terrible,” he said. He sank into the chair beside her. “My head’s still killing me.”

“Oh yeah?” she said. “You better drink some more water.” She handed him her water bottle. “Don’t worry about going easy on it. We’ve got plenty.”  
  
“Thank you,” he said. He took a drink, then crossed his leg over his knee and fiddled with the shoe. He groaned to himself as he felt the sole.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Kristan said.  
  
“My shoes are wearing down,” he said. “Too much walking on the hard pavement.”  
  
“You think they’ll last until we hit the settlement?” she said.  
  
“I don’t think I can afford new shoes,” he said. “I’ll be lucky if I can buy food this week.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” she said. She leaned forward and gripped the top of the stick.  
  
“My supplies are gone, my city connection’s dead, and I’m sure my contacts are wondering where the hell I am,” he said, taking off the shoe. “I don’t know if I’ll even last another six months out here.”  
  
“Tom, don’t talk like that,” she said.  
  
“The market is cutthroat,” he said. “If I didn’t have the Dead Pegasus hookup in the beginning, I wouldn’t have lasted as long as I did.”  
  
Kristan pressed her lips together, then settled back in the chair, tapping the stick against the ground. More people started to emerge from their tents. They talked quietly as they got dressed and checked their radios. Tent flaps unzipped. Can openers scraped loudly. As Kristan hacked at a can of beans with her pocketknife, a man at the next camp caught her eye. He glared at her. Kristan looked at him oddly, then turned back to the beans. She was dumping the beans in a pot when he glared at her again.  
  
“Hey,” Kristan said suddenly. “You got a problem over there?”  
  
The man stopped and looked up from his campfire, then headed over. Even when she stood up, he towered over her. “Yeah, I’ve got a problem,” he said. “My wife and kids and I have to uproot ourselves and travel halfway across the Zones because you assholes couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”  
  
“You wanted us to keep our mouths shut?” Kristan said. “Is that it? You wanted your wife and kids to keep eating contaminated food and die from radiation poisoning?”  
  
“There’s no evidence that food was contaminated,” he said.  
  
“We did tests,” she said. “If you don’t believe it, test the food yourselves.”  
  
“I have. I tested every piece of food we brought into that tent, and every time it came up clean.”  
  
“Then I guess your meter’s broken,” she said.  
  
He clenched his teeth and shook his head. “You’ve fucked things up for a lot of people,” he said. “Yesterday we had a home, a job, and a steady source of food, and now we’ve lost all three.”  
  
“We didn’t kick you out of that tent,” Kristan said, her voice rising. “We didn’t set the camp on fire—”  
  
“You’ve been stirring up trouble for months on your little radio program,” he said. “You and your friend with that stupid clown name, Dr. Death Defy or whatever. Is that you?” he said suddenly to Tom. “Are you Dr. Death Defy?”  
  
“No,” he said flatly.  
  
“You sure? Then where is he?”  
  
“Do I sound like Dr. Death Defying to you?” he said.  
  
“No, wait,” the man said. “I know who you are. You’re that German salesman.”  
  
“Excuse me?” he said.  
  
“I know you try to hide it with that fake Chinese name, but we all know who you are,” he said. “You’ve been out here screwing people over since day one. Are you trying to get vengeance for the Motherland?”  
  
“I am not a German soldier,” he said, his voice rising. “I was born and raised here. My mother is an American citizen, she was raised here just like I was—”  
  
“A lot of German-Americans turned against their country when the war started,” the man said. “You know we can’t trust you. Don’t give me this fake-offended _My mother was an American citizen_ bullshit. You might say that, but I bet that when the wars started, you weren’t running to the recruitment office to sign up.”  
  
“I was twelve years old when the wars started,” Tom said. “For Christ’s sake, I was too young to sign up.”  
  
“Whatever,” the man said. “Just stay the fuck away from my family, both of you.”  
  
He glared at Tom and Kristan, then turned and stalked back to his camp. His wife was washing shirts in a bucket. She caught Tom’s eye, then looked away with a tinkling, mocking laugh. A burst of anger surged inside him. Before he knew what he was doing, he whipped his shoe at the back of the man’s head. The man stumbled forward, then whirled around and scooped the shoe off the ground.  
  
“Did you throw this at me?” he said. “Did you just throw this at me, you little shit?”  
  
The man charged forward and lunged at him with the shoe. Tom shielded his face with his arms as the man rained blows down on his head and shoulders. Kristan shouted and pulled him off. They fought and struggled for a few moments until he marched back to his camp, shaking his head and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.  
  
Kristan handed Tom his shoe, then swept her stick off the ground and slumped down in the chair. Neither of them spoke for several moments.  
  
“Christ, what an asshole,” she said finally.  
  
“I know,” Tom said.  
  
“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” she said. “Probably just another idiot who can’t survive out here without the city doing everything for him.”  
  
Tom nodded and looked away. Kristan poked idly at the ground with the stick. Birds chirped and fluttered around the tree that shaded their camp.  
  
“So you were twelve when the wars broke out?” she said. “I thought you were older! How old are you?”  
  
After breakfast, the camp packed up their tents and started back on the road. A layer of dust covered the vehicles, making them appear faded in the sunlight. Luggage rattled on the roofs. After driving down the highway for most of the morning, they turned off on a dirt road. Rocky hills rose on either side of the hill, layered with reddish earth. The sun glinted through the trees. They bumbled across the road, the tires crunching on sand and spitting rocks, until the caravan suddenly stopped. Kristan drummed her fingertips against the steering wheel. After a few minutes, she rolled down the windows.  
  
“All right, what’s going on now?” she said.  
  
“Engine trouble,” Steve said. “Maybe somebody broke down.”  
  
“God, I hope not,” Kristan said. “Not in this heat.”  
  
After ten minutes, people started shutting off their vehicles. Kristan switched off the engine and tied her hair into a ponytail. Sweat formed on the back of her neck. Steve fanned himself with one of the old magazines scattered on the dashboard. The longer they waited, the hotter the air became, as if their car were absorbing the sun’s energy.  
  
“All right, I’m calling someone,” Kristan said. “Who do we radio? I don’t know half the people here.”  
  
“What’s the name of that guy who sold newspapers in town?” Steve said. “Diego? Do we have his call number?”  
  
“Yeah, I think so,” she said. She was reaching for her transmitter when a woman in a yellow jacket walked down the road. The car in front of them rolled down their window. The woman said something to the driver, then turned and headed to Steve and Kristan’s car.  
  
“A car up the front’s got engine trouble,” she said. “We might be here for a while.”  
  
Kristan slumped in her seat. “Are you kidding me?” she said.  
  
“I’m afraid not,” she said. “They’ve got a mechanic taking a look at it, but if they can’t fix it in the next hour or so, we might have to go on without them.”  
  
She patted the doorframe and walked off. Kristan groaned and stretched her arms. “God, I can’t imagine being trapped here for an hour,” she said. “It’s boiling in here.”  
  
“Get out, walk around for a little bit,” Steve said. “At least you’re not confined to the car.”  
  
“You want me to get your chair out?” she said.  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. He rippled the edge of a stack of playing cards. “You want to play a game of Sunshine State?”  
  
“Who’s going first?” she said.  
  
“You go,” he said, cutting the deck. “I don’t feel like having that kind of pressure right now.”  
  
After three card games and a meal of beef jerky that Steve found in the glove compartment, Kristan stepped out of the car and joined the growing crowd of people around their vehicles. She struck up a conversation with a woman a few cars ahead of them. In the car, Steve flipped through a yellowed paperback. He talked to a young girl who hung around the door until her mother called her back to their truck. Finally, Kristan headed back to the car, her face shining with sweat. She folded her arms inside the window frame and leaned forward.  
  
“Hey,” she said. “Do you think you can catch a ride with Tom?”  
  
“Why, you kicking me out?” he said.  
  
“I’m talking to this woman who was a radio engineer in the city,” she said. “She wants to ride with me until we hit the settlement. She said she might be able to help us reach a wider range.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Steve said, closing his magazine. “How big of a range?”  
  
“We might be able to hit Zone Three,” she said. “I’m not sure. But anyway, call him, if you don’t mind. I heard that car might be fixed up soon.”  
  
Fifteen minutes later, they were back on the road. Tom’s car was near the end, squeezed between a truck that spewed exhaust smoke and a car with a windshield caked in dust, with two fan-shaped areas where the wipers had scraped off the dirt. A Better Living air freshener dangled from the rearview mirror of Tom’s vehicle. “How long have you had that?” Steve said, nodding toward the air freshener.  
  
“What, this?” Tom said. “I’ve had it for years. I think it came with the car.”  
  
Steve nodded and settled back against the seat. He tried the radio, but every station hissed with static. The vehicles started to climb up a hill. The truck in front of them grinded its engine and spat rocks at the windshield. A dirt road wove across the hills ahead of them like a winding ribbon.  
  
“Kristan told me about that fight you guys had this morning,” Steve said.  
  
“Did she?” Tom said, reaching for his water bottle. His expression didn’t change.  
  
“Yeah,” Steve said. “Tom, don’t let those assholes get to you. They’re just shooting their mouths off. Everyone’s still looking for someone to blame for the wars.”  
  
“I know,” Tom said. “I’ve been hearing this since I was twelve.”  
  
“I know that, I’m just saying,” he said. “Believe me, Kristan and I had to listen to Louie spew his bullshit for months back at the old camp. If there’s one thing I learned, it’s that it’s not really about the Germans or the Russians or whoever. These assholes just want someone to blame for the way their life went off track.”  
  
Tom stared steadily ahead at the road. Steve sighed and wiped his dusty hands together. They slowly maneuvered down the hill, the tires making a crumbly sound against the rocks.  
  
“Tom, I’ve gotta ask you something,” Steve said.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Are you full-blooded German?” Steve said. “Because Kristan and I have always thought you looked Hispanic.”  
  
Tom glanced at him in surprise. “I’m half-German,” he said. “It’s from my mother’s side.”  
  
“Was your dad Hispanic?” Steve said.  
  
“I don’t know,” Tom said. “I’ve never met him.”  
  
“Sorry to hear that,” Steve said.  
  
Tom took a long, slow drink. “He abandoned my mother when she was pregnant with me,” he said after a pause. “I’ve never had any desire to meet him.”  
  
“I never knew my dad, either,” Steve said. “I don’t think my aunt ever even met him. She just said that my mother showed up one day in the city with a baby. She had this American flag that she carried with her everywhere, too. That was all she had—just a baby, the clothes on her back, and the flag. My aunt ended up having it framed.” He paused. “We never did find out who my father was,” he said. “My mother died a month later. Pneumonia got to her.”  
  
Tom nodded. “My mother never told me much about the wars,” he said. “One of the few things she mentioned was seeing fires in the distance. She said it looked like the horizon was on fire.”  
  
“Yeah,” Steve said. “My aunt talked about that, too. She said you could smell the smoke for miles.”  
  
They drove in silence for a while. They crossed a flat stretch of highway marked with dead utility poles, towering over the road like ancient monuments. Steve chuckled when they passed an old _TORTOISE CROSSING_ sign. They wove around a muddy lake, drove past a garden of towering cacti, and passed a crumbling gas station with one of the walls caved in. The sun trekked across the sky like a slow-moving beetle.  
  
Evening was approaching when they reached the town border. Old buildings were flanked by tents and wooden shacks. People stepped out of their houses, carrying laundry or buckets of water. A few campfires glowed in the grasses. The dying light cast an orange glare on the windows.  
  
The line of cars parked in the middle of the road. As Tom stepped out of the car, voices murmured around him. An American flag hung from one of the porches, rippling in the wind. The edges were tattered as if the flag had been ripped apart in a sandstorm.


	13. Chapter 13

**2004  
  
** The smell of stew wafted from the pot that Bess stirred on the stove. Kristan knocked on the doorway. The side door was propped open to let fresh air into the kitchen. “Hey!” she said, leaning inside. “What are you making? Smells good.”  
  
“Hey, babe,” Bess said. She tapped the spoon against the pot. “I’m making lettuce stew for the shelter.”  
  
“Bet the kids are going to love that,” Kristan said.  
  
Bess laughed. “I don’t think they’re too fond of it,” she said. She gestured toward the stairs with the spoon. “You can go on. I think he’s waiting for you upstairs.”  
  
Kristan climbed the stairs to the attic. The rafters gave off a dusty, woodsy smell in the afternoon heat. Boxes and crates were stacked around the room. Kristan sat down on the edge of the cot while Tom finished writing in the ledger book, then stuffed the book in tucked-away place among the rafters. The ceiling was strung with old wires and an empty lightbulb socket.   
  
“I can smell that stew from up here,” Kristan said. “Do you ever get hungry up here? She’s always cooking something for the shelter.”  
  
“Usually it’s not very appetizing,” Tom said. He slipped on his jacket and they headed out into the bright sunlight.  
  
Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to an old house covered in peeling white paint. Strips of wood had peeled away in some places, covered with curtains or planks of fresh wood. A few sections of the walls had been stripped down to the frame. Dry grasses sprouted around the house in tufts. A few tents sat around the house, along with a garden the size of a small porch. Wilted, scraggly leaves hung from the sagging stalks.  
  
Tom knocked on the door, then stepped back. The curtains pulled back and a pair of eyes peeked out. A tall girl with long, spindly limbs opened the door. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Dark roots extended from the scalp.  
  
“Who are you?” she said. Her voice was high and faint.  
  
“My name is Tom,” he said. “I’m a salesman. I spoke with Peter on the radio.”  
  
“Peter?” she said. “He’s gone, man.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“He left. He went just an hour ago.”  
  
“Peter? Peter Glass?”  
  
“Yup.” She leaned against the doorway and folded her arms. “He got called out on a mission.”  
  
“We’ve been planning this for a week,” Tom said. “He told me that you were desperate for water supplies.”  
  
She looked down at her cracked nails. “I guess some things are more important,” she said.  
  
“What? What is so important?”  
  
The girl didn’t answer. Tom sighed and looked up at the sky. “Is there anyone else I can talk to?” he said. “Who else deals with supplies?”  
  
The girl picked at a fingernail, then looked up. She eyed him cautiously. Kristan shifted and looked back and forth between them.  
  
“You’re dressed kind of funny,” the girl said.  
  
“Excuse me?” Tom said.  
  
“You look like you just stepped out of the city,” she said.  
  
“I’ve always dressed like this,” Tom said. “I’ve been dressing like this since I was fifteen.”  
  
The girl dropped her hand. “Pretty funny way to dress in the desert,” she said.  
  
“Are you implying something?” he said. She glared at him. “What? What are you getting at? Because if you’re about to accuse me of being a Drac—”  
  
Suddenly the girl’s fist shot out and cracked him in the nose. Tom staggered back, clutching his face. White-hot pain shot through the bridge of his nose. The girl fought and shrieked as Kristan wrapped her arms around her to restrain her. She howled as if the skin were being flayed off her bones. Tom clutched his nose and bent over, hissing in pain. Blood dripped onto his hands and rolled down his wrist.  
  
The door burst open and a teenage boy in a military vest jumped out. “Oh, no, no, no,” he said. “Oh my God. I am so sorry, sir. Angie! Jesus Christ! Get back inside!”  
  
Kristan released the girl. She stormed back into the house, sobbing loudly. The boy hurried over to Tom, fishing a bandana out of his pocket. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” he said. “Oh Jesus. Do you need some help? Let me see.”  
  
Tom pressed the bandana against his bloody nose. “I don’t think I need any more assistance from your camp,” he said.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Did Peter call you? Are you the one who was supposed to meet him today?”  
  
“Yes, I was,” Tom said. “When I arrived, I was told that he’d left without warning.”  
  
“Yeah, he got called out on an emergency,” the boy said. “Here. I’m not really supposed to do this, but I know where the cash is. Just stay here, okay? I’ll be right back.”  
  
He returned with a leather bag with a handful of carbons stuffed inside. Tom opened the trunk and showed him the water jugs that he’d brought. The boy debated with himself for a few minutes, then paid for the water and hauled it inside the house. Before they left, he introduced himself as Eric.  
  
“Thanks for coming here,” Eric said, shaking his hand. “Again, I’m so sorry about what happened. If you go to the medics, just tell them to bill us. We’ll take care of it.”  
  
“Thank you,” Tom said.  
  
When they drove away, Kristan turned around and watched the house until it disappeared over the horizon. Then she sank back into her seat. “What was up with that kid?” she said.  
  
“Which one?” Tom said.  
  
“That one that hit you. What the hell was that all about?”  
  
“Clearly, she’s had a bad experience with Dracs,” he said.  
  
“Yeah. No kidding.” Kristan undid her ponytail and shook out her hair, then re-tied it again. “They need to put a leash on that kid. Keep her from punching out more strangers. How’s your nose, by the way?”  
  
When they returned to the house, Bess was sitting at the kitchen table with her hands folded together. She flashed them a shaky smile, then quickly looked away again. Kristan smiled at her and followed Tom upstairs. “It smells like bread in here now,” she said. “She must’ve made a whole batch just before we got here—”  
  
Tom stopped. Something looked vaguely different about the boxes stacked around the room, but he couldn’t place it. He walked over to one of the boxes and peered inside. His expression hardened. He searched through the boxes, his anger rising, until his hands shook as he pushed aside a crate.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Kristan said.  
  
“They’re empty,” Tom said. He picked up one of the boxes and turned it over. “They’re all empty.”  
  
He marched past her and stormed down the steps. Bess still sat at the kitchen table, squeezing her hands together. When she saw Tom, she burst into sobs.  
  
“What the hell is going on?” Tom said.  
  
“Jake and Lewis came by after she left!” she burst out. “And they wanted their payment! I didn’t have it, since I spent all I had on food supplies—”  
  
“So you raided my supplies,” he said.  
  
“I just took what I needed,” she said over her sobs. “At first they just wanted some clothes, but then they wanted some silverware for the car payment, and then they started asking about the bedsheets—”  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Tom said. “So you stole my supplies because you couldn’t manage your debts.”  
  
“I’ll be able to pay you back in six months, maybe less,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Tom. This is what I had to do to keep the house.”  
  
“You’ll pay me back,” Tom said. “You’re going to pay back every cent of what you stole from me. But don’t think that you’ll be paying off that car you bought, because you’re not getting rent from me anymore.”  
  
Bess covered her mouth and sobbed. Tom stormed back up to the attic, seething with anger. Kristan followed him. “Are you leaving?” she said from the doorway.  
  
“Yes,” he said. He grabbed the ledger book and dropped it in his suitcase, then unlocked the cash box and counted the carbons inside. He gathered his belongings, pacing around like an impatient prisoner in a jail cell.  
  
“Where are you going to stay?” Kristan said.  
  
“I have no idea,” he said. He closed and locked his suitcase, then marched back into the kitchen, where Bess was still crying at the table.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Tom.”  
  
“Don’t apologize to me,” he muttered before heading out the door. He fished out his keys as he headed for his car. Kristan hurried after him.  
  
“Tom, you can always stay with us,” she said.  
  
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ll be fine. I’ll find a motel.”  
  
“That’s going to cost money.”  
  
“Living here cost money.”  
  
“Not as much as that will,” she said. “Tom, c’mon. We’ve got plenty of space. I don’t want you getting stuck with somebody else that’ll sell your stuff.”  
  
He unlocked the car door. “I can’t put you out like that,” he said.  
  
“You’re not putting us out,” she said. “Steve and I worry about you, Tom. We’d love to have you.”  
  
“So you can keep an eye on me?” he said.  
  
“Yeah. We’ll look out for you. And you know we’re not going to take your stuff.”  
  
“My car is all that I have left,” Tom said. “Unless Bess tracks me down and sells that, too, while I’m asleep.”  
  
Kristan laughed. “I’m serious, Tom,” she said. “Come on. You’ve been to our house plenty of times. You know we’ve got the space. We’ll just set up a little space for you in the back.”  
  
He opened the car door, then paused. He rubbed a hand across his face, thinking of the other houses where he’d stayed: the family that started demanding a cut of his wages, the couple that kicked him out because they feared that he’d attract thieves. Tom sighed and shook his head.  
  
“I’ll stay for a few days,” he said. “But God help me if I can’t find my own house within a month.”  
  
“You’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m sure there’s an abandoned place around here somewhere. You might have to look a few miles out, but you’ll find one.”  
  
He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t respond. After they said their goodbyes, they climbed into their vehicles. Bess pushed back the curtains and watched as they drove away, a handkerchief pressed over her mouth.  
  
\---  
  
Eric picked up a pair of dusty black shoes that lay on the kitchen table. Next to the shoes were a folded Battery City map, three dehydrated meals wrapped in plastic, and a small pile of matchbooks. “The guys came back with these this morning,” he said. “We were thinking fifteen carbons for everything. What do you think?”  
  
“What’s the expiration date on the food?” Tom said.  
  
Eric picked up one of the packaged meals. “Twelve—sixteen—twenty-ten,” he said, holding it up that he could see. “Plenty of time.”  
  
Tom picked up the shoes and studied the fabric, bent the soles. He checked the contents of the matchbooks. Eric waited with his arms folded. The camp’s kitchen was lined with shelves that held stacks of mismatched plates and cups of silverware. Strips of plaster were peeling from the ceiling. An old stove was still mounted against the wall. A few people argued around the garden outside, their voices carrying the window.  
  
“All right, I’ll take it,” Tom said finally. As he fished out his wallet, he said “How often do they go on these trips?”  
  
“About once a week,” Eric said.  
  
“Is their return always like this?”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Eric said. “They find all kinds of stuff. Last week, one of the guys came back with an old military pistol. Still had three bullets in the chamber.”  
  
Eric smiled at him as he accepted the money. “I’ll take this to Peter,” he said. “Oh, by the way—” He held up the dog tags that glinted around his neck. “I just got my tags today,” he said. “This is my code name. Agent Cherri Cola.”  
  
Tom was packing the items in a leather bag. He looked up, then leaned forward and read the writing on the tag. “Why do they call you Cherri Cola?” he said.  
  
“It’s just my code name,” he said. “You don’t want to use your real name out here.”  
  
“You gave me your real name when I met you,” Tom said.  
  
“Just my first name,” Cherri said. “And that was just until I got my code name. It was just temporary.”  
  
“Am I supposed to forget your real name now?”  
  
Cherri laughed. “Just call me Cherri, if you remember,” he said. “But if you don’t, that’s fine. A lot of people forget about it at first.”  
  
“Eric, I have friends that have used their real names for years, and they’ve never run into trouble.”  
  
“They don’t give away their full name, though, do they?” Cherri said. “Just the first name?”  
  
Tom tilted his head in thought. He racked his brain, but he could only barely remember Steve’s full name. It suddenly occurred to him that he had never heard Kristan’s surname.  
  
Cherri laughed good-naturedly. “See?” he said. “It’s just not safe out here. I mean, someone must’ve told you that, right? That’s why you call yourself Tommy Chow Mein?”  
  
“I don’t call myself that,” he said. “Other people call me that.”  
  
“Right,” Cherri said. “But you still use it.”  
  
“I don’t have much of a choice,” Tom muttered.  
  
“I mean, if it bothers you, I’ll tell the camp to stop using it—”  
  
“It’s not just that,” he said. “I can’t go by my real name. My surname is German.”  
  
Cherri’s expression softened. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “I mean—not sorry that you’re German,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry that you have to deal with that bullshit. I know people can be assholes to Germans out here.”  
  
“People are assholes regardless,” Tom said.  
  
Cherri laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “A Russian guy used to live here, actually. I mean, I never met him, but people used to talk about him. There was a woman who came by here every week to sell tea and newspapers. They said that whenever she came around, she wouldn’t sell anything to him. And he was the nicest guy you’d ever meet, he wouldn’t hurt anybody, but she just wouldn’t sell to a Russian. She wouldn’t even let him look at anything. He had to sit inside whenever her truck came by.”  
  
Tom nodded. “I’ve met people like that for most of my life,” he said. “I don’t think this country will ever overcome its prejudices.”  
  
“I hope they do,” Cherri said.  
  
Tom didn’t respond. He hefted the leather bag off the table. “Radio me if they find more supplies like this,” he said. “Preferably before you call anyone else.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Cherri said.  
  
The next week, Cherri radioed him with the news that the scavengers had found an old military transmitter and a set of Battery City books. A week later, he reported finds of a fuel can, a sewing kit, and packages of seeds. Soon, Tom’s visits to the camp became regular occurrences. The other campers eyed him suspiciously or avoided him altogether until Cherri convinced them that he wasn’t a city worker. A few of them started to inquire about his stock, and before long, he began to sell and trade with the camp. The campers dragged out boxes of keepsakes that they’d stacked on shelves and shoved under their beds: beads, old coins, keys, wrinkled papers, old dollar bills.  
  
Whenever Tom visited the camp, Cherri told him about rising at dawn to collect dew from the plants, working for long hours in the garden, driving to town with six or eight people crammed in his car. His hands were hard and calloused with dirt crusted around his fingernails. Occasionally Tom arrived to find him patching up the walls or repairing the plaster on the ceiling with the other campers. Once he even found them digging up a prickly pear cactus so they could transplant it to a closer location. Cherri wanted it right next to a window so they could reach out and pick the fruits.  
  
One day, Cherri reported that the scavengers had discovered a cache of old radio equipment. He offered to drive it to the house so that Kristan could look at it. So a few days later, an old green Cadillac drove up to the house. Kristan looked up from the garden and walked up to the car, wiping her hands on her jeans. Her hair was tucked back in a bandana.  
  
“Hey!” Kristan said as Cherri stepped out of the car. “How’s it going?”  
  
“Pretty good,” he said. “I threw it all in the trunk. You said you didn’t need the headphones, right?”  
  
He started to unlock the trunk, then stopped. Kristan was staring at his face.  
  
“Jesus Christ, Cherri,” she said. “What happened to your eye?”  
  
A mottled purplish bruise stained his left eye. Cherri touched the bruise, then winced. “We were just practicing,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. This guy Copper, he doesn’t know his own strength.”  
  
“What were you practicing?” Kristan said.  
  
“They were teaching us to fight,” Cherri said. “Hold our own if we ever get into trouble.”  
  
“What kind of trouble do you think you’re going to be getting in?” she said.  
  
“I mean, if we ever come across a bad gang,” he said. “If somebody tries to steal from us. If a squad of Dracs show up. That kind of thing.”  
  
Kristan looked at him oddly. “Well, you better put something cool on that,” she said. “Hang on. I’ll get you a rag.”  
  
She brought him a rag soaked in cool water. He pressed the rag over his eye, wincing as water rolled down his face, then unlocked the trunk. After Kristan paid for a few consoles, he helped her haul them inside. “Just lay them on the counter,” she said. The kitchen table was scattered with empty jars, sealed jars of pink jelly, and a juice-stained cutting board.  
  
“Are you guys making pear jelly?” Cherri said.  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Kristan said. “Steve loves it. Have you ever tried it?”  
  
“I’ve had it a few times,” he said. “It’s delicious.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s not too bad,” she said. She handed him one of the jars. “Here. Take this one. Just don’t tell the camp about it, or it’ll be gone within an hour.”  
  
Cherri took the jar as if she’d handed him a newborn baby. He held it carefully in his hands. “Thank you so much,” he said.  
  
“You’re welcome,” Kristan said. “Have you had lunch yet? Steve and Tom are going to be gone for a while. I can throw some beans on the fire.”  
  
Cherri laughed a little, almost to himself. Kristan tilted her head as she started to clear off the table. “What?” she said.  
  
“Nothing,” Cherri said. “No, it’s just—you guys are so nice to me.”  
  
“People aren’t usually nice to you?” she said as she tucked the jars in a crate.  
  
“Not everybody,” he said. “I had a lot of trouble finding help out here before I found the camp. People said that I didn’t know what I was doing.”  
  
“Well, that was rude,” she said.  
  
He shrugged. “It happens,” he said. “So are you guys going to the bonfire on Friday?”  
  
After they ate, Kristan showed him the radio room. The desk was piled with radio equipment. A microphone and a pair of headphones rested in front of the console. Crates of records and cassette tapes sat against the wall. On the walls were a Zone map, an old clock with a cracked face, and a bulletin board that bristled with photos and papers.  
  
“Do you guys listen to the radio?” Kristan said.  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Cherri said. “All the time. They usually crank it up when we have a bonfire.” His eyes caught a yellow record sleeve in one of the crates. “You have a Gearshift record?”  
  
Kristan laughed and slid the record out of the crate. “Yeah, I’ve had it for years,” she said, turning it over and reading the tracklist. “I don’t even remember where I got it. I probably had it in the city.”  
  
“Does it still play?” Cherri said.  
  
“Barely,” she said. “It skips so much, I can’t even listen to it. I’ve asked Tom to keep an eye out for a new one.”  
  
She slid the record back into the crate, then sat down at the desk and started switching on the equipment. Green lights blinked on and machinery started to whir. “I usually do a midday broadcast about this time,” she said. “You want to join in? You can be like a guest DJ.”  
  
Cherri laughed. “Oh, no thank you,” he said.  
  
“Oh, come on. You can read the news. All you have to do is just read words off a paper.”  
  
“I’m sure I’d be horrible at it,” Cherri said.  
  
“Everyone’s horrible when they first start,” she said. “I was horrible. Come on. Just sit down.” She adjusted the microphone and snapped on the headphones. “This is DJ Hot Chimp, broadcasting to you live from our little hideout in Zone One,” she said. “I’ve got some afternoon delight headed your way, in the form of the new Gummy Bear track. But first, my man Cherri Cola is going to hit you with the latest news. Cherri, what do you have for us?”  
  
Cherri laughed and rolled his eyes. They mouthed arguments at each other until he finally sat down and took the paper she handed him. He strapped on a pair of headphones and reached for the second microphone that she’d connected to the consoles. “Uh—hey, I’m Cherri Cola,” he said. He smoothed out the paper and squinted at her handwriting. “I hope you guys are having a good afternoon. Uh, it looks like somebody called—what is this?—Beef is having a sale on charcoal briquettes today…”  
  
He read off the announcements until he reached the end of the page. When he looked up, Kristan grinned at him. “And that was Cherri Cola,” she said. “Not too bad with a microphone, if I do say so myself. We’re going to kick things off with that new track I promised you from Gummy Bear…”  
  
Cherri watched the rest of the broadcast with his chin resting on his hands. Kristan spoke into the microphone effortlessly, as if the words just tumbled out. She played eight songs, took a few calls, then signed off for the rest of the day. “What’d you think?” she said as she switched off the equipment.  
  
“I thought you were great,” Cherri said.  
  
She laughed. “I meant your part,” she said. “What’d you think? I thought you did fine.”  
  
“It was fun,” Cherri said. “I mean, it was scary, but it was fun.”  
  
“Yeah, the first time’s nerve-wracking,” she said. She glanced up at the clock, then stopped. “Holy shit, it’s almost three,” she said. “Do you need to get back to the camp?”  
  
“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Cherri said. “Half the camp’s off on a scavenging trip today. They won’t miss me.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” she said. “That’s good. You want to go for a walk? I’ll show you where I get the prickly pears.”  
  
He followed her outside, where they walked through the grasses until they found a cluster of prickly pear cacti. Kristan strapped on a pair of thick gloves and pulled the fruit off the cactus pads with a pair of tongs. She dropped them into a basket that Cherri held. A Joshua tree cast a shade over them, giving the air a light, cool feeling.


	14. Chapter 14

A house with a pointed roof was tucked beneath a flat, rocky hill. The mint-colored paint had worn away in places, exposing the wood beneath. Thick grasses and shrubs had sprouted around the land like tufts of fur. Tom parked in front of the house and stepped out. As he and Steve approached the front door, they passed a few cars surrounded by weeds. One car was rusted and crumbling against the ground.  
  
Steve knocked on the front door. “Hey,” he said. “It’s me. Steve. Open up. I need to talk to Hunter.”  
  
No response. Steve knocked again. “Come on, open up,” he said. “I know someone’s in there. Your cars are all parked outside.”  
  
When no one responded, Steve groaned. He wiped dust off one of the windows and peered inside, but the window was covered with a thick curtain. He tugged on the doorknob. It was locked. “Come on, maybe they’re out back,” he said. “If not, we might have to call somebody to get this door open.”  
  
They headed around to the back of the house. Empty lawn chairs were scattered around in the sunlight. Tom pulled on the doorknob, expecting it to be locked. But the door swung open. He crept into a cool, shady kitchen with mold crawling near the ceiling. Flies buzzed around the dirty plates and bowls stacked on the table. He opened a drawer underneath the counter, but it was empty except for a single tape measure. He tried to open the next drawer, but it was stuck. He winced and tugged on the drawer until it pulled free.   
  
“Tom, come on,” Steve said. “It’s not in here.”  
  
“They’re waveheads,” Tom said. “I doubt they put much thought into a hiding place.”  
  
Silverware clinked and rattled as he searched through the drawer. Steve watched him for a moment, then opened the refrigerator. The light was dead, the motor was silent. A red purse, a single onion, and a stack of magazines had been stashed on the shelves.  
  
“You know, it might not even still be in the house,” Steve said. “He might’ve sold it by now.”  
  
“I doubt he’s gotten that far,” Tom said. He opened the oven door and peered inside. The metal racks were dusted with ancient ash.  
  
“Hey! What the hell are you doing? Get away from there!”  
  
Tom’s head jerked up. He closed the oven door and straightened. A wavehead had emerged from the hallway, gripping the doorway for support. He held his left foot above the floor. His skin was covered in shiny pink burns and raw, white blisters like craters.  
  
“What the hell is wrong with you?” the wavehead said. “Fucking barging into our house like that. Get away from there!” he snapped at Tom, who backed away from the oven. “Jesus Christ, you trying to take our silverware?”  
  
“Actually, one of your friends stole from us,” Steve said. “Is Hunter here? I need to talk to that kid.”  
  
“How the hell do you know Hunter?”  
  
“A couple of days ago, he came by the house, wanting to see if I had an Effie Gold tape,” Steve said. “I had the mask laying out on the desk. I turned my back on this kid for five minutes, and when I went back to the room after he left, the mask was gone.”  
  
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” the wavehead said. He sniffed and rubbed his nose on his hand. “I’ve been out for two days. I haven’t talked to Hunter. I just woke up five minutes before you assholes showed up.”  
  
“Look, can we talk to someone else?” Steve said. “People who steal shit usually brag about it. I’m sure someone around here knows something.”  
  
“Why don’t you get the hell out of our house?” the wavehead said.  
  
“Hey, we knocked, but no one was answering.”  
  
“You think I won’t pull a gun on you?” the wavehead said. “You think we’re all too helpless to defend ourselves?”  
  
“Look, for God’s sake, man, I just want to know where the mask is—”  
  
The back door suddenly burst open, flooding the room with sunlight. A teenage boy with long black hair sauntered into the room, humming to himself. He dropped a brown paper bag loaded with supplies on the counter. When he turned around, Steve’s eyes widened. The yellow mask hung around the boy’s neck, the sequins glittering in the sunlight. The boy smiled placidly as if nothing were wrong.  
  
“Hey, Chris!” he said to the wavehead. “Who’re these guys?”  
  
“Hey,” Steve said. “Where did you get that mask?”  
  
The boy turned to him and smiled. “They gave it to me,” he said. “These guys did. It was payment for the supplies I brought them last week.”  
  
“Were you aware that it was stolen?” Steve said.  
  
The smile slid off his face. He touched the mask and looked over at Chris, who shrugged. The boy’s eyes widened. “Oh, no,” he said. “Oh, no, I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Steve said. “Just give it here. One of these guys took it from our house the other day.”  
  
The boy handed him the mask. “I’m so sorry,” he said again. “If I’d known about this, I never would’ve accepted it. I swear.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said. “Just don’t accept any gifts from these guys in the future. Maybe reconsider who you’re hanging out with.”  
  
On the drive back to town, Steve toyed with the mask. He turned it back and forth in his hands, occasionally fanning himself with it. The string was almost frayed to the point of breaking.  
  
“For future reference, don’t let waveheads anywhere near your supplies,” Tom said. “I wouldn’t even let them in the house, to be honest with you.”  
  
“They’re not all bad, Tom,” Steve said.  
  
“They’re terrible,” he said. “They lie and steal and cheat. I’ve had three waveheads steal from me since April.”  
  
“No, I know that,” Steve said. “I’m not defending it. I’m just saying. A lot of these guys have been through some shit.”  
  
“And that excuses it?” Tom said.  
  
“No, but you need to understand, man, some of these guys don’t know anything else. Some of them were raised in shit environments, and they got hooked at a young age because they had nothing better to do.”  
  
“I was raised in a shit environment,” Tom muttered.  
  
“This was a problem in the vet camps, too,” Steve said after a pause. “I mean, not wavesurfing so much, but we had a lot of people addicted to painkillers. People turn to this stuff to cope.”  
  
“I know that,” Tom said. “But I don’t feel sorry for them, because no one forces them to lay out under the sun and get high all day. No one forces them to steal because they can’t pay their expenses.”  
  
“Nobody forced you to come out to the desert, but here you are,” Steve said. “Look, sometimes life doesn’t turn out the way you expect. I guarantee that most of the guys in there have been through some shit in their lives. I’m not saying this is healthy, but it’s how they cope.”  
  
“They can cope in a way that doesn’t interfere with our supplies,” Tom said.  
  
Steve shook his head, but didn’t pursue it. He tapped the mask against his palm, then turned and faced the window. Grey clouds were beginning to darken the sky overhead.  
  
After Tom finished his deliveries, they returned to the house to find Kristan and Cherri on the porch. They ate dinner around the campfire. Cherri told them stories about the people that passed through their camp. Scavengers appeared with boxes of goods: animal skulls, license plates, a section of a control panel that one seller claimed was from an old military plane. Once they’d met a woman who drove an old yellow school bus. A few months ago, an entire group of people had rode in on horseback and joined their bonfire. The horses had stomped and whinnied throughout the night.  
  
Eventually, Steve and Kristan headed inside for the night broadcast. Tom and Cherri remained by the fire. Waves of hot air and smoke rolled off the campfire. The flames cast a quivering, pulsing light over the sands. Tom shifted his feet. The firelight was reflected in his boots.   
  
Cherri tucked his hands behind his head and looked up at the sky. “The rest of the camp’s going to hate me tomorrow,” he said.  
  
“Are they?” Tom said.  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been away all day.”  
  
“Is that not allowed?”  
  
Cherri laughed. “It’s frowned upon,” he said. “They don’t like it when people are away for too long. There’s always something to do around the camp. The house is falling apart.”  
  
“I’m sure they could manage one day without you,” Tom said.  
  
He laughed again. “Yeah. Tell them that.”  
  
Cherri stretched out his legs and sank back in the chair. A few dark clouds were still scattered across the sky. He picked up a bundle of twigs and tossed them in the fire. The fire engulfed the twigs with a loud, crackling _whoosh.  
  
_ “You know, when I first met you, I couldn’t believe that you were a salesman,” Cherri said.  
  
Tom laughed. “Why’s that?” he said.  
  
“You’re so clean-cut,” Cherri said. “I mean, not to be rude, but we get some skeevy-looking people out there. A lot of these guys look like they’ve been rolling around the desert.”  
  
“I’m sure some of them have been,” Tom said. “I’ve met scavengers who dug up graves before.”  
  
“Have you ever had to do that?” Cherri said.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Have you ever—you know, dug up a grave?”  
  
“You’re asking me if I dug up someone’s grave?” Tom said.  
  
Cherri’s face burned. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Jesus. I’m sorry. Ignore me. That was stupid.”  
  
Tom laughed shortly. “No, I have never dug up a grave,” he said. “I’ve skinned roadkill before. The fur sells well around winter.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Cherri said. “I bet some people would buy the bones, too.”  
  
They lapsed into silence. The fire crackled and popped, shooting embers into the sky. Tom thought of the dog tags tucked away somewhere in his desk, printed with the name _LOUIS PICKETT,_ and a shadow crossed over his face.  
  
“I’m sorry, man,” Cherri said suddenly.  
  
Tom laughed. “It’s fine, Cherri,” he said.  
  
“I know you don’t do that shit,” Cherri said. “But I’ve met people who have. Even at the camp, we always say that we’re not going to use gravestones, because we don’t want to lead the scavengers to our graves.”  
  
“They’ll find it,” Tom said. “If they’re that desperate.”  
  
“Yeah,” Cherri said. “I always said that I wanted to be buried by the tree out front.”  
  
“The tree next to the house?”  
  
“Yeah. That one. That, or right next to the prickly pears.”  
  
Cherri smiled fondly. Tom smiled back, but something about Cherri’s words gave him a faintly ominous feeling.  
  
“Well, I better head back,” Cherri said abruptly, standing up. He cast a long shadow across the ground. “Thank you so much for having me.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” Tom said.  
  
“If you ever want to come to the camp, just let me know. We’d love to have you.”  
  
Cherri shook his hand, then said his goodbyes to Steve and Kristan. They gathered on the porch while Tom extinguished the fire. As smoke billowed from the ashes, Cherri’s car backed away from the house and sped off into the night like a glittering beetle.  
  
\---  
  
A crowd of people bustled around the mail room porch, talking quietly and shielding their eyes from the sun to peer at the road. Flies buzzed around the humid, sticky air. Kristan sat on the bottom steps with Steve parked beside her. Several cars were parked in front of the mail room, but the road ahead was empty. The wind swept waves of sand across the pavement.  
  
“I heard that they were two hours late last time,” Steve said.  
  
“Are you kidding me?” Kristan said.  
  
“Nope. Heard them talking about that inside.”  
  
“Well, they better not be late today,” she said. She took a swig from her water bottle, then offered it to him. He shook his head.  
  
Steve swatted a fly that was buzzing around the steps. More people arrived, parking on the side of the road. Someone shouted for a bottle of water, and a woman on the porch tossed it to him. Kristan tapped her feet against the porch steps. Her shirt clung to her body with sweat. She took another swig from her water bottle, then lowered it to see a man running down the highway.  
  
“It’s coming!” he shouted. “It’s coming!”  
  
An electric current seemed to jolt through the crowd. Kristan nearly tripped as she jumped to her feet. People darted off the porch and spilled out onto the highway like ants swarming over a piece of dropped fruit. A freight truck barreled down the highway, clouds of dust billowing around the wheels. The truck slowed to a halt in the middle of the road. The crowd mobbed to the back of the truck, pushing and shouting, and coughing in the exhaust smoke.  
  
The back doors opened. Shouts erupted from the crowd. Kristan stood on her toes and craned her neck, cursing under her breath. Eight or nine boxes were stacked in the wide-open space of the truck. A woman tried to climb inside, but a man in a bulletproof vest pushed her back. One of the workers sliced open one of the boxes. She tossed a packaged loaf of bread into the air. The loaf sailed over the crowd, the light shining through the plastic, until it hit the crowd with a _piff._ People shrieked and grabbed at each other until the loaf was torn to shreds.  
  
The workers tossed out loaves and bags of bread into the crowd, which mobbed the bread like a school of fish. Kristan snatched a bag of rolls out of the air. She fought and struggled against the grabbing hands that tried to snatch it away. Steve caught a loaf of bread, then elbowed a man that tried to reach over his chair. Someone yelped in the back of the crowd. When three boxes had been emptied, the workers closed the doors. People shouted and followed the truck as it took off down the highway. They followed the truck until it accelerated and sped off into the distance, leaving a trail of exhaust behind.   
  
The rest of the crowd stumbled back to their cars. Kristan breathed heavily, clutching the bag of rolls. Her face was reddened and soaked with sweat. Her muscles throbbed, but she still grinned at Steve as they headed for the car.  
  
“Someone’s going to get killed at one of these bread drops,” Steve said.  
  
“I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already,” she said. She stuffed the bread under the front seat of the car. A few bruises darkened the inside of her arms.  
  
“Oh my God! Oh my God! It’s you!”  
  
Kristan whirled around. A teenage boy that she didn’t recognize stood behind them, a hand clapped over his mouth. A smashed loaf of bread was tucked under his arm.  
  
“Oh my God, it’s Dr. Death Defying!” the boy said. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry, I didn’t recognize you the other day. Then I heard your voice on the radio and I was like, holy shit, that was Dr. D!”  
  
Steve laughed. “When did we meet?” he said. “Oh! Wait. I remember you. You’re that kid that was helping out the waveheads.”  
  
“Yup, that’s me!” he said. “I’m so sorry about the mask, by the way. I know I said that a million times, but I’m so sorry. Really. If I’d known that they’d stolen from you, I never would’ve taken it.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it, kid,” Steve said. “Kristan and I locked it up. We thought it was just something that Tom found on his travels. We had no idea that it was valuable.”  
  
“It’s not,” he said. “I mean, it totally is, but not in a monetary sense. I think he took it because he knew I love glitter.”  
  
“You do, huh?” Steve said.  
  
“Yeah. I do.” He grinned and stuck out his hand. “I’m August, by the way. Oh my God. I’m so glad that I met you.”  
  
“Nice to meet you too, kid,” Steve said, shaking his hand. “Kristan, this is that kid that was bringing the waveheads supplies.”  
  
“It’s nice to meet you,” Kristan said. “I guess you’ve heard us on the radio? Dr. Death Defying and DJ Hot Chimp?”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” August said. “Totally. I listen to it every morning. I love the way D gives the news. He’s so laid-back, it’s like, _All right, here’s the fucking news! Three Dracs blew up today, but who gives a shit, I’m Dr. D, man!_ ”  
  
Steve burst out laughing. August covered his mouth with his hand as he laughed. His eyes crinkled.  
  
“But seriously,” August said. “I love your station, man. Really. I always have.”  
  
“Well, that’s good,” Steve said. “Do you want to join us for dinner tonight? If that’s okay with you,” he added, looking at Kristan.  
  
“It’s fine,” she said. “But it’ll mean smaller portions for everyone.”  
  
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” August said. “I eat tiny meals. Everybody says I eat like a bird.”  
  
“I believe it,” Steve said. “You look like our friend Tom. He’s as skinny as a rail.” He turned and wheeled over to the car. “C’mon. Have you ever been to Honeydew? Little town about six miles east of here? We live just outside that.”  
  
August climbed into his truck and followed them back to the house. He chatted with Steve at the table while Kristan made bread soup from the smashed loaves. Tom arrived just as Kristan was ladling the soup into bowls. He greeted everyone and shook hands with August, then sat down at the table. Kristan frowned and touched a snag on the elbow of his sleeve. He flinched involuntarily.  
  
“What happened to your jacket?” she said, drawing her hand back.  
  
“I snagged it on a chain-link fence,” Tom said. “I’ll have to sew it tonight.”  
  
“I’ll sew it for you, if you want,” Steve said. “I’ve got nothing better to do tonight.”  
  
“Are you a sewer?” August said, eyeing him over his water glass.  
  
“Yup, I am.” Steve winked and clicked his tongue. “Best sewer in Zone One.”  
  
“Are you really?”  
  
Steve laughed. “No,” he said. “I just picked up a few things in the wars. I used to carry a tiny sewing kit around.”  
  
“So you are a professional sewer,” August said. “I mean, that’s basically what they do. They sew up people’s clothes and carry around tiny sewing kits.”  
  
“Yeah, but I’ve never been paid for it.”  
  
“I bet if you advertised on the radio, people would pay for it.”  
  
Steve laughed. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “I think everybody knows how to do it, more or less.”  
  
“I don’t,” August said. “Maybe I’ll pay you to sew some of my clothes. I’ve got a pair of jeans with huge holes in the knees.”  
  
“The hell were you doing that caused huge holes in the knees?”  
  
They talked and laughed as they ate. Steve, who normally claimed that he hated bread soup, ladled another helping into his bowl. August slurped his soup loudly as if he were slurping spaghetti. He stopped abruptly when he caught Tom glaring at him. Kristan stirred her soup and stacked the empty bowls in the center of the table. When the meal was over, Tom excused himself and stood up to leave.  
  
“Hang on,” Steve said. “Let me take a look at that jacket again before you go.”  
  
Steve gently took his arm and examined the tear in the sleeve. Tom flinched inwardly, but didn’t move. August watched them silently. Steve released his arm and he headed to his room to change, shedding the jacket as he went.  
  
“Man, Tommy was really giving me the evil eye,” August said in a loud whisper when he was gone.  
  
“Oh my God,” Steve said. “Don’t call him that. He’ll hit you over the head with his suitcase.”  
  
“Will he really?” August said.  
  
“No. He won’t. But don’t do it. He hates that name.”  
  
“Tommy Chow Mein?”  
  
“Yup.”  
  
Tom reappeared in the kitchen with his suitcase. He said his goodbyes, then checked the time and hurried out the door. August gripped the edge of his seat. His mouth was shut tight as if something was bubbling inside. Suddenly he jumped up in his seat and whirled around, facing the door.  
  
“Goodbye, Tommy!” August shrieked, then clapped his hands over his mouth. Steve groaned and rolled his eyes. Kristan pursed her lips.  
  
“Kid, don’t piss him off,” Steve said.  
  
“I’m sorry,” August said. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
“And don’t shout inside the house, either,” Kristan said. “Jesus. My ears are ringing.”  
  
“I’m so sorry,” August said, his face burning. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that. I just—I saw the opportunity!”  
  
“Some opportunities shouldn’t be seized,” Steve said, reaching for his water glass. But he wore a look of faint amusement. He drained the glass and set it back on the table. “C’mon,” he said, backing away from the table. “You want me to teach you how to sew?”  
  
Steve led him to the living room and demonstrated on one of his old jackets. As August watched him, he told him about the glassmaking in his home of Diamond Ridge. Using hand-built equipment, they heated sand into glass and made colorful plates, bowls, beads, talismans, and other trinkets. At times, August watched them sculpt for hours. Sometimes they worked long into the night, the colorful glass glowing over the fires.  
  
When the sun started to set, August finally stood up to leave. He grabbed Steve’s hand and shook it. “Thank you so much for having me,” he said. “Oh my God. I can’t believe this. I actually had dinner with the famous Dr. Death Defying!”  
  
Steve laughed. “Eh, I’m not famous,” he said. “I just read shit off a piece of paper. Kristan’s the real brains behind it.”  
  
“I know, but you’re the voice,” August said. “Everybody knows who you are! They recognize it immediately. It’s like—the famous Dr. Death Defying voice.”  
  
Steve laughed again. After they said their goodbyes, he and Kristan followed him outside, then watched from the porch as he drove away. The truck’s taillights glowed bright red in the evening light. “Man, that kid is something, isn’t he?” Steve said.  
  
“Yeah, he’s something,” Kristan said. She watched the road for a few moments, then turned back to the door. “Come on. Let’s do the broadcast before it gets dark.”  
  
The next morning, Steve and Kristan woke up an hour before the sun rose. They made breakfast while it was still dark, then headed to the radio room when the first streaks of pink and yellow appeared in the sky. Kristan switched on the radio equipment and strapped on her headphones. Steve read the news report and she played a few songs. Morning sunlight started to flow through the doorway.  
  
“Before the next round of tunes, we’re going to be taking questions and comments from our callers across the Zones,” Kristan said into the microphone. “If you’ve got a thought in your head that needs to be made public, hit us up at K8DX. That’s K- _eight_ -D-X, by the way. Not K- _A_ -D-X, with A as in apple. The owners of that station yelled at us yesterday. All right, hit us up!”  
  
A green light blinked on. Kristan flicked the switch. “Caller one, you’re on the air,” she said. “Got any knowledge or wisdom to impart on us today?”  
  
“ _Yeah, uh…hey_ ,” said a fuzzy female voice. “ _Is that tire sale you talked about last month still going on?_ ”  
  
“The tire sale?” Kristan said. “Oh! The sale at the junkyard. You’ll have to call Mike about that one. We don’t run the sales, we just advertise them.”  
  
“ _Oh. Okay. Sorry._ ”  
  
The call ended. Another green light flashed on. “Caller two, you’re on the air!” Kristan said.  
  
“ _Good morning_ ,” August said. Steve instantly recognized his voice through the static. “ _I’m looking for, uh…what’s his name? Some old man that I ran into yesterday. I think his name was, uh…Dr. Deviled Egg?_ ”  
  
Steve laughed. “Yup, that’s me,” he said. “Dr. Deviled Egg. The fuck do you want?”  
  
“ _Oh, I was just wondering…what’s up with the massive stacks of weed that I saw laying around his house?_ ”  
  
Steve burst out laughing. “I don’t have massive stacks of weed,” he said. “I have one stack of weed. And it’s small. Unfortunately.”  
  
“ _I just wanted to know why certain persons weren’t invited to share_ ,” August teased.  
  
“Sorry. Weed’s a privilege in this household. Not a right.”  
  
“ _Just for privileged people?_ ” August said. “ _Are you and Tommy Chow Mein lighting up fat blunts every night?_ ”  
  
Steve laughed. “Oh my God,” he said. “No. Tom hates that shit. He can’t stand the smell.”  
  
“ _He doesn’t like the smell of a nice fat blunt rolled up in the morning?_ ”  
  
“God, no,” Steve said. “He’d kill me if I smoked in the morning. He always yells at me when I light up in the house. He’s like my husband.”  
  
“ _Is he more of an ecstasy guy?_ ”  
  
“All right, all right,” Kristan said before Steve could respond. “August, do you have an actual question for us?”  
  
“ _I’ve been asking questions—_ ”  
  
“A real question. Do you have any real questions for us?”  
  
August paused. “ _No ma’am._ ”  
  
“All right. This call is over. You’ve used up almost all of our time.”  
  
Kristan flipped the switch, ending the call. After taking a final question about the name of a song they’d played earlier, Kristan announced that she’d play a few more songs to close out the broadcast. She slipped a cassette in the tape player, then switched off the microphone. She took off her headphones and rubbed her forehead.  
  
“He better not start doing that every day,” she said, swiveling back and forth in the office chair.  
  
“Kristan, come on,” Steve said. “He was joking.”  
  
“He shouldn’t have brought up the weed,” she said. “Now that everyone knows about it, we’re going to attract thieves.”  
  
Steve paused. “Shit,” he said. “You’re right.”  
  
“And since he brought Tom into it, people are going to think he’s selling weed. So he’s going to get a bunch of calls about it, and he’ll get pissed at us.”  
  
Steve sighed. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “Shit. The kid’s young. I guess he didn’t think about it.”  
  
“If he calls like that again, shut it down,” Kristan said, reaching for her water bottle. “Don’t play along.”  
  
“Oh, come on, Kristan,” Steve said. “He was just kidding around. I mean, I know he went too far this time, but do you want all our calls to be the same old shit? _What’s the name of that song? Will you play this shitty tune I cranked out in an hour? Is that sale that you mentioned six fucking months ago still going on?_ ”  
  
“No, but I don’t think we need to encourage callers to waste our time, either,” she said. “I mean, Christ, now half the Zone thinks we’re lighting up every night and Tom’s popping ecstasy.”  
  
Steve laughed. “That’s not what he said, Kristan,” he said.  
  
“Look, if he wants to talk to you, tell him to call you on your transmitter,” she said. “He doesn’t need to be calling during the show.”  
  
Steve sighed. “All right, all right,” he said. “Fair enough.”  
  
Kristan shook her head, then strapped the headphones back on. A few moments later, she pressed the _STOP_ button on the tape player. “And that was Orange in Charge!” she said into the microphone. “We’ve got another hit for you coming up from an old band called Starry Night…”


	15. Chapter 15

Steve asked around until he found August’s call number. August apologized after hearing about the situation. After he agreed not to joke around on the air anymore, he started telling Steve about an old vending machine that his friend Nathan had found inside an ancient grocery store. Nathan had broken the glass and returned with a bucket full of plastic eggs. They spent an hour and a half opening the eggs, finding cheap plastic rings, tiny figurines, keychains, plastic whistles, rubber balls. Steve was so engrossed in the conversation that he didn’t realize that Tom was asking him a question until he waved his hand in his face.  
  
The next night, Steve invited August over for dinner again. August wore a few of the plastic rings, with giant fake glittering jewels. He gave Steve a keychain with a tiny plastic radio. They talked and laughed around the fire, the night growing dark around them, until Kristan returned from her repair job. A few days later, August brought them a few deformed glass beads. He lined them up in the windowsill so the light could shine through them. The glass cast brightly colored, translucent shadows.  
  
As the days passed, Steve’s calls to August became more frequent. Soon, they were talking to each other every day. August told Steve stories about Diamond Ridge, while Steve talked about his routine and recommended new songs. Occasionally August picked up their mail in town and hung around to help Steve in the garden or watch while they delivered a broadcast. August took Steve on a few drives through Honeydew. They blasted the radio and waved at the people walking down the road and talking around store entrances.  
  
One day, Steve found Kristan’s old ham radio buried in the closet. Steve and August sat at the table after dinner and flipped through the stations. They joined a conversation about recycling old road signs and listened to a couple of women talk about fishing lures. A candle flickered inside a tin can on the table. One conversation sounded like gibberish to them. Steve listened intently until he recognized a few words.  
  
“What is it?” August said.  
  
“I think they’re speaking German,” Steve said. “We better get Tom in here. Hey, Tom!”  
  
Tom stepped out of the hallway. “C’mere,” Steve said, waving him over to the table. “I think these guys are speaking German. Jump in there and tell us what they’re saying.”  
  
“You want me to eavesdrop on them?” Tom said.  
  
“No, that’s why I’m asking you to join in. Just get in there and join the conversation.”  
  
“No eavesdropping here,” August said.  
  
Tom folded his arms on the back of Steve’s chair and listened. After several moments, he reached down and Steve handed him the microphone. “N1HC,” Tom said during a break in the conversation.  
  
“ _Wer ist das_ _?_ ” said one of the voices. “ _Klingt als hätten wir einen neuen Sender_.”  
  
“ _N1HC, in der Nähe von Honeydew_ ,” Tom said.  
  
“ _Honeydew sagst du? Wusste nicht dass es in Honeydew Leute gibt die Deutsch sprechen. Bist du von hier, mein Junge?_ ”  
  
“ _Ich lebe hier schon ein paar Jahre_ ,” Tom said. “ _Bin hierher gezogen nachdem Greenberry evakuiert wurde_.”  
  
August looked at Steve as if he expected him to translate. Steve shrugged. Tom spoke for a few minutes and even laughed a few times. When the conversation was over, he returned the microphone to Steve. “So what were they talking about?” Steve said.  
  
“They were talking about fuel prices,” Tom said. “One of them heard a rumor that they’re going to spike in the next couple of weeks.”  
  
“I don’t believe that,” Steve said. “People say that at least once a month.”  
  
Tom turned to leave. Suddenly August said “Wait! Tom! Are you married?”  
  
“Excuse me?” Tom said.  
  
“Your wedding ring! Holy shit! I just noticed it.”  
  
Tom looked down at his right hand. “No, I’m not married,” he said. “I was. About ten years ago.”  
  
“Why are you still wearing it?” August said.  
  
Tom unconsciously twisted the ring with his left hand. “I’ve had people try to offer me sex in exchange for supplies,” he said. “They usually shut down when they see the wedding ring.”  
  
As he headed back to his room, August turned to Steve with his mouth half-open. “Holy shit,” he whispered loudly. “I didn’t know he used to be married.”  
  
“Well, it was a while ago,” Steve said, fiddling with a knob on the radio. “He’s never said much about it.”  
  
“Why’s he still wearing the ring?” August said.  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“You think he’s still in love with the chick?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“You’re right,” August said. “I don’t think he feels love.”  
  
Steve waved a hand dismissively. “Cool it, kiddo,” he said. “God, where’s the news network? I can never find it on this thing.”  
  
Voices flitted through the radio speakers. August rested his chin on his hands, shock still written across his face. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered.  
  
The next morning, Steve wheeled into the kitchen while Tom and Kristan were eating breakfast. He hummed to himself as he opened the cabinet. The glass jars clinked as he searched around the shelf. He wheeled over to the kitchen with a jar of prickly pear jelly, then slapped two pieces of toast onto his plate. He spread jelly over the toast, still humming to himself. Light shone brightly through the jelly jar like the beads on the windowsill.  
  
Steve looked up to see that Tom and Kristan were watching him. “What?” he said.  
  
“Well, you’re in a good mood,” Kristan said.  
  
“August’s taking me to Diamond Ridge today,” Steve said. He bit into a piece of toast. “He thinks I can sell some of my old military stuff to this old woman down there. She collects it.”  
  
Kristan raised her eyebrows. “You’re selling your military stuff?” she said.  
  
“Some of it,” he said. “I’ve had it laying around for ages.”  
  
“You’re serious? You’re actually selling it?”  
  
“Nothing huge, but yeah. I’ve got some old clothes I could probably let go of. Maybe get rid of that old backpack, too.”  
  
Kristan stared at him. “I can’t believe this,” she said.  
  
“Hell, Kristan, you’re the one who always said I should get rid of it,” he said.  
  
“I know, but I never thought you would,” she said.  
  
“I sold some of it to Tom, didn’t I? Way back when we first met?”  
  
“Yeah, after we argued about it. And I practically had to push you into the bedroom. Jesus, Steve, what’s going on with you?”  
  
Steve shrugged. He slapped the two pieces of toast together and bit into it like a sandwich. The silence was punctuated by the sound of birds chirping outside. Steve looked up at them, then sighed.  
  
“What?” he said. “What is it?”  
  
“I just don’t understand why you’re so obsessed with this kid,” Kristan said, setting down her glass.  
  
“He’s a good kid, Kristan,” Steve said. “You’ve met him. You know this.”  
  
“Every time I meet him, he’s just babbling about how great you are,” she said. “I don’t think he knows a thing about you, Steve. He’s just in love with the famous Dr. Death Defying.”  
  
“What’s wrong with that?” Steve said.  
  
“What’s wrong with that is that you’re not Dr. Death Defying,” she said.  
  
“Yeah, I am,” he said. “Who is he, if he’s not me?”  
  
“You’re not Dr. Death Defying,” she said. “You’re Steve. Dr. Death Defying is just a voice on the radio.”  
  
“Well, the voice comes from me,” Steve said. “And I don’t know about you, but I think it’s pretty damn flattering that someone likes our work that much. For months, I thought that no one was listening to us.” He grabbed another piece of toast and started spreading it with jelly.  
  
Kristan shook her head. “I just don’t understand,” she said. “Why him? Why are you suddenly best friends with this kid?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Steve said, setting down the knife. “I guess it’s just…he’s just so enthusiastic about life. I mean, nothing ever gets him down. He’s just a decent, happy kid, you know?”  
  
“So we’re not enthusiastic enough?” Kristan said.  
  
Steve laughed shortly. “I mean—are you?” he said. “I mean, Jesus, when’s the last time one of us got excited about anything?”  
  
“When we heard that the soap prices were being lowered.”  
  
“Oh, great. When the soap prices were being lowered. Hallelujah, I’m shitting myself with excitement over the fucking soap prices being lowered.”  
  
“Jesus Christ, Steve,” Kristan said. “What do you want from us?”  
  
“Nothing, Kristan,” he said. “I don’t want anything. I’m just asking for a little respect. Because honestly, I don’t like the way you’re talking about August.”  
  
Kristan shook her head, looking away. Tom eyed them as he drank from his glass. Steve finished eating and dropped the knife with a clatter, wiped his hands on a napkin, then wheeled back to the bedroom for his old military supplies. “I’ll be out on the porch,” he said when he returned. “August’s supposed to get here in about ten minutes. Do you want me to grab you anything from Diamond Ridge? I’ll probably have some spare change after I sell this.”  
  
“Nope,” Kristan said.  
  
“Tom?” Steve said.  
  
“No,” Tom said.  
  
Steve sighed to himself, then headed outside. A moment later, the door slammed shut. Kristan’s eyes dropped to her plate. Tom set his glass on the table. His mouth was a thin line.  
  
“I just don’t understand it,” Kristan said. “Steve’s never really liked being around people, and now he’s dropping everything to hang out with this kid.”  
  
“I think it’s childish,” Tom said.  
  
“Do you?”  
  
He nodded. “A grown man hanging out with a sixteen-year-old. He shouldn’t be spending all his time with someone half his age.”  
  
“Maybe he likes the adoration,” Kristan said. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him act like this before.”  
  
“I imagine August will move on before long,” Tom said. “I don’t think he’s the type to stick around.”  
  
“God, I hope so,” Kristan said. She propped her head up with her hand and turned to the door. The distant sound of a car engine carried on the wind.  
  
August’s truck lurched and rattled as it rumbled up to the house. The hood was dented, the edges of the windshield crusted with sand. Necklaces and keychains rattled on the rearview mirror. “Hey, Doc!” August said, sticking his head out of the window. “How’s it going?”  
  
“It’s going great,” Steve said. “Let’s get the hell out of here. I’ve been sitting here for so long I think I’m about to melt.” The sun beat down on his head like a blast of heat from a furnace.  
  
August helped him into the truck, and they started off down the road. Trash, empty cups, and crumpled papers littered the floor around Steve’s feet. The seat vibrated beneath him. A string of multicolored glass beads hung among the chains and necklaces on the mirror.  
  
“Have you ever seen glass like this?” August said. “I mean, I’m sure you’ve seen city glass, but have you ever seen real, Zone-made glass?”  
  
“Not that I’m aware of,” Steve said. “I mean, we find some old glass stuff at the markets, but I think a lot of it’s from the city or the pre-war days.”  
  
“Oh, man,” August said. “You have never seen glass like this. I can’t wait to show you. You’ll love it.”  
  
“Is it anything like those beads you brought us?” Steve said.  
  
“Better. Oh man. I can’t wait for you to see it. It’ll blow your mind. Whenever somebody sees it for the first time, they just want to buy everything and take it home with them.”  
  
Steve grinned. As August spoke, Steve’s mood started to lighten, as if they were driving away from a fog that hovered over the house. The argument with Kristan seemed to wisp away in trails of smoke, leaving him with a relaxed, refreshed feeling, like a change of scenery after driving the same route for ten years.


	16. Chapter 16

Tom stepped out of the motel office, tucking his wallet inside his jacket. The sky was yellowish and pink with scraggly dark clouds along the horizon. A single car coasted down the highway. As he walked down the sidewalk, he passed a man slumped on a bench. A radio crackled quietly beside him. “ _Three Dracs were found dead outside of Lunar Valley about an hour ago_ ,” the voice said. “ _No word on whether the city knows about it yet. The big rumor right now is night bandits that came out early, since most of their clothes were stripped off_ …”  
  
Tom unlocked the door to his room and flicked the light switch. Words were scrawled on a piece of masking tape above the switch: _LIGHTS ON FOR 2 HRS. MAX._ A bed with a heavy quilt stood across from the window. The tiny TV was covered in dust. He locked the door and was starting back to his car when someone shouted “Hey, Tom!”  
  
He turned around. Cherri was standing up from the bench. Cherri smiled, though his hair was tussled and his jaw was rough with stubble. “Hey, man,” he said. “How’s it going?”  
  
“Not as well as I’d hoped,” Tom said. “A woman just chased me out of her house because I increased the price on a generator.”  
  
Cherri winced. “That sucks, man.”  
  
“It happens,” Tom said. “What are you doing here? Is your gang here?”  
  
Cherri looked away and rubbed his neck. “One of our suppliers changed locations,” he said. “I had to come up here and negotiate.”  
  
Tom nodded. “I’m actually about to leave again,” he said. “Someone just called me about a water purifier.”  
  
“It’s getting dark,” Cherri said.  
  
“I know,” Tom said, glancing at the sky. “It’s only a fifteen-minute drive away. I’m hoping I can avoid any night bandits in that time.”  
  
He was being faintly sarcastic, but Cherri’s expression was solemn. “You want me to go with you?” he said.  
  
Tom shook his head. “I won’t keep you,” he said.  
  
“No, it’s fine,” Cherri said. “I don’t have anywhere else to be. I don’t want you driving out there alone.”  
  
“So you’re going to put yourself in danger?” Tom said.  
  
“It’s not as dangerous when there’s two people,” Cherri said. “It’s the loners that they look out for.”  
  
Tom raised his eyebrows, but nodded and gestured for him to follow. “It’s going to be boring,” he said as he unlocked the car door. “You might spend half an hour waiting in the car.”  
  
“Yeah,” Cherri said. “That’s fine. I don’t mind.”  
  
As he climbed into the car, he rubbed at his gums. A faint tinge of blood hung around the edges of the tissue. When Cherri caught Tom’s eye, he quickly lowered his hand. He cleared his throat and folded his arms while Tom started the engine.  
  
“So who called about the water purifier?” he said as they backed away from the motel. The car’s headlights swept across the road.  
  
“A woman outside of Cherryville,” Tom said. “She claims that she bought it for three carbons at a market. The seller didn’t know what it was.”  
  
“That’s probably a load of bullshit,” Cherri said.  
  
“I know,” Tom said. “It’s probably an old blender without a label.”  
  
Cherri laughed. “But you’ve gotta check it out anyway, huh?” he said.  
  
“Unfortunately,” Tom said. “If I don’t, I’ll find out a month later that it was real and I could have made fifty carbons off it.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s usually how it works,” Cherri said. He crossed his leg over his knee, jiggling his foot, then rubbed at his gums again. His eyes were watery. “You know, the guys at the camp have been asking about you.”  
  
“Have they?” Tom said.  
  
“Yeah, they were wondering why we haven’t seen you for a couple of weeks.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Tom said. “I’ve been traveling around the area.”  
  
“No, it’s fine,” Cherri said. “Don’t worry about it. They’re just wondering where you went. They keep asking me, where’s that guy that always wears a suit?”  
  
Cherri laughed. Tom smiled faintly. When he glanced over, Cherri had sniffed and was jiggling his foot again.  
  
“Are you all right, Cherri?” Tom said.  
  
Cherri looked up as if he’d heard a gunshot. “Yeah!” he said, rubbing a hand across his neck. “Yeah, I’m fine. So where have you been traveling?”  
  
“I’ve driven as far as Zone Two,” Tom said.  
  
“Oh yeah?” Cherri said. “No way.” He wiped his watery eyes with his palm. “I’ve never been to Zone Two. I’ve been all the way up to Freyja Falls, but that was years ago, when I was a kid.”  
  
Cherri flashed him a smile, then folded his arms again. Hard muscles and veins bulged under the skin.  
  
Ten minutes later, Tom pulled up to a trailer parked beneath a Joshua tree. Christmas lights were strung on the front porch. He disappeared into the trailer and returned twenty minutes later with a water purifier in a plastic bag. He opened the car door, then suddenly recoiled. He turned away as if he’d detected a foul stench.  
  
“Jesus Christ, Cherri,” he said.  
  
Cherri had been rubbing a yellow powder into his gums. He jumped and quickly stowed the bag in his pocket. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Shit. I’m so sorry, man.”  
  
“Get out,” Tom said. “I’m serious. Get out. Don’t do that in my fucking car.”  
  
Cherri jumped out of the car. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to do it in front of you, I just got hit with this craving—”  
  
“Is that what your gang does?” Tom said. “Whenever I can’t reach you, are you off getting high on fuzz?”  
  
Cherri blanched for a moment, but he quickly recovered. “Sometimes,” he said. “But it’s not like that, Tom. I mean, it’s not like heroin. It’s barely stronger than weed.”  
  
“That’s bullshit,” Tom said. “Steve smokes weed. He’s never gotten a craving so intense that he had to light up in my car.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Cherri said. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”  
  
Tom shook his head, standing next to the open car door. The road stretched out in front of them and disappeared around a dark hill. Trees were silhouetted like stage props. Cherri wrapped his arms around himself, breathing heavily.  
  
Suddenly a transmitter buzzed, breaking the silence. Tom jumped, then grabbed the transmitter from the dashboard. “Hello?” he said. As the other voice talked about a stash of old military canteens, he stepped toward the road. He stood silhouetted in front of the highway like a sentry. When the call was over, he marched back to the car.  
  
“Get in,” he muttered. “I need to be over there by ten minutes.”  
  
“Where are you headed?” Cherri said.  
  
“Back to Cherryville. Some woman found about a dozen military canteens.”  
  
They drove back to Cherryville in silence. Cherri tried to apologize again, but Tom quickly shut him down. He parked in front of a three-walled shack made of aluminum sheets. The front of the shack was draped with sheets and blankets. Tom rapped on the side of the shack and waited, then stepped inside when an elderly woman pulled back the sheets. He returned a few minutes later, empty-handed.  
  
“How did it go?” Cherri said quietly when he started the car.  
  
“We couldn’t decide on a price,” Tom said.  
  
“What about that water purifier?”  
  
“It’s an old military filter,” he said. “It barely works, but I might be able to get eight carbons for it.”  
  
Cherri nodded. He didn’t speak as they drove back to the motel. Tom parked near the office, grabbed the filter and his suitcase, and headed for his room. Cherri slumped back down on the bench. In his room, Tom slipped off his shoes, changed into jeans and a flannel shirt, and switched on the radio. He listened for sale offers until the ceiling light suddenly switched off, plunging him into darkness. He fumbled around in the dark for his suitcase. After lighting a candle, he spread out papers and maps on the table and worked in silence. Nothing stirred outside except the occasional car engine.  
  
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Tom’s head jerked up, his heart racing. He reached for the white ray gun on the table, then pushed back the curtains. His shoulders sank with relief when he saw Cherri outside. He unlocked the door and swung it open.  
  
“Hey,” Cherri said quietly. “I’m sorry to bother you, but, uh—I’m waiting for one of the guys from the camp, and he was supposed to show up an hour ago. He just called and said it’s going to be another half hour. Maybe forty-five minutes. I don’t want to sit out there in the dark all night, so I was wondering—do you mind if I wait in here until he arrives?”  
  
“You don’t have a room?” Tom said.  
  
Cherri shook his head. “Couldn’t afford one,” he said.  
  
“Then why were you waiting here when I arrived?”  
  
“That seller I told you about is staying here,” Cherri said, rubbing his eyes. “Anyway, I was going to wait in the office, but they’re closed for the night. I know you’re probably going to bed soon, but if you just give me an hour, I swear, I’ll be out of here.”  
  
“Who’s picking you up?” Tom said.  
  
“A friend back from the camp. He’s got my car, it’s a long story.”  
  
Cherri wrung his hands together. Tom glanced at the clock above the bed, then sighed.  
  
“All right,” he said. “Ten o’clock.”  
  
“Thank you,” Cherri said as Tom closed the door behind him. “Thank you so much.”  
  
Tom shook his head and sat down at the table. He straightened a stack of papers, then flipped through an old, cracked journal. He marked names and addresses and circled places on the map. Cherri stood in front of the door for a few moments, then touched the back of the chair across from him.  
  
“Do you mind if I sit down?” Cherri said.  
  
Tom looked up and nodded. Cherri pulled out the chair and folded his arms on the table. He studied the map spread out across the papers. Suddenly he said “Hey! You write in German?”  
  
“Yes, I do,” Tom said.  
  
“Do you do it intentionally, or do you just switch between languages when you’re writing?”  
  
“I do it intentionally,” Tom said.  
  
“Makes it harder for other people to steal your secrets?”  
  
“That’s right,” Tom said. “Unless they kidnap me and force me at gunpoint to translate it.”  
  
Cherri laughed. “I used to know a guy who’d slip into Spanish when he was talking,” he said. “You’d be talking to him and all of a sudden he’d go _Si, mi amigo_ or something and just talk in Spanish for a minute before he’d realized what he’d done. Do you ever do that?”  
  
“I’ve done that, yes,” Tom said.  
  
“Oh yeah?” Cherri said. “I love it when you speak German.”  
  
Tom laughed. “Do you?” he said. “I’ve been told that it sounds angry. Too guttural.”  
  
“No, it’s not angry,” Cherri said. “I mean, when other people speak it, it might sound angry, but when you speak it, it’s more—I don’t know. It’s calming.”  
  
“You think it’s calming when I speak German?” Tom said.  
  
Cherri laughed. “I guess,” he said. “I don’t know. What’s my name in German?”  
  
“Your real name?”  
  
“No. Cherri Cola.”  
  
“ _Kirsch Cola_ ,” he said.  
  
“ _Keer-sha_ Cola?”  
  
Tom repeated the phrase until Cherri understood the pronunciation. “ _Kirsch Cola_ ,” he said. “Man, that sounds better than my real name. I’m going to start using that from now on.”  
  
Tom laughed. “I wouldn’t recommend it,” he said. “I’ve gotten complaints just for taking notes in German.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Cherri said. “It wasn’t anybody at the camp, was it?”  
  
“No, it wasn’t.”  
  
“Good,” Cherri said. “I mean, most people would be cool with it, but if anyone ever tried to start anything, I’d tell them to back off. Or Peter would. We don’t put up with it.”  
  
Tom nodded, but didn’t respond. Cherri lowered his eyes. He started to rub at his gums again, then quickly lowered his hand. He tapped his foot against the floor. After a while, he stood up and paced slowly around the room.  
  
“Man, I wish he’d get here,” he murmured, peering out the curtains.  
  
The clock ticked to 9:20, then 9:35. Cherri sat down in the chair and sighed. He drummed his fingertips against the table. He stood up and paced around again. One of the floorboards creaked every time he stepped on it.  
  
“Cherri, sit down,” Tom said. “You’re making me anxious.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Cherri said. He sat down in the chair. “I just wish he’d get here, man. I don’t know what the hold-up is.”  
  
“Call him and see,” Tom said.  
  
Cherri stepped outside to call him on his transmitter. When he returned, he reported that his friend was on his way. But as the candle flame lowered and shrunk in the holder, the highway remained empty. Finally, Cherri’s transmitter buzzed. He hurried outside as if he’d seen the car pulling up to the motel. He returned a few minutes later, stuffing his transmitter inside his jacket.  
  
“He’s here,” Cherri said. “I’m leaving. Thanks for letting me stay here, man. I’ll call you next week if the guys go on a scavenging trip.”  
  
“I didn’t hear his car pull up,” Tom said.  
  
“Yeah, he’s not here. He’s parked down the road.”  
  
“How far down the road?”  
  
Cherri shrugged. “I’ll see you later, man,” he said.  
  
“Cherri. Wait. How far down the road?”  
  
Cherri stopped in front of the door and sighed, rubbing his forehead. “About half a mile,” he said.  
  
“Half a mile?” Tom repeated. “So he wants you to walk half a mile down the road in the dark?”  
  
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Cherri said.  
  
“Is there a reason he can’t drive up to the motel?”  
  
“That’s just how Copper is,” Cherri said. “He doesn’t like to draw attention.”  
  
“Attention to what?” Tom said. When Cherri didn’t respond, he said “Cherri. Attention to what?”  
  
“He’s just—he’s kind of a recluse,” Cherri said. He rubbed a hand across his face. “He doesn’t like to see people.”  
  
“So he’s expecting you to walk down the highway at ten o’clock at night.”  
  
“Tom, it’s not like that.”  
  
“Then what is it?” Tom said. “Because all I’m seeing is someone that might be luring you into a trap.”  
  
“Tom, I’ve known this guy for months, man,” Cherri said. His hand lingered on the doorknob. “He wouldn’t do that.”  
  
“What if he’s being held hostage?”  
  
A frightened look suddenly crossed Cherri’s face, but it faded just as quickly. “No, we’ve got a code for that,” he said, ruffling his hair. “Look, I appreciate that you’re concerned, but it’s fine. Believe me, I don’t underestimate people out here. I’d never get into that car if I wasn’t sure that it wasn’t a hundred percent safe.”  
  
“Cherri, he’s been avoiding you, putting you off, and when he finally shows up, he insists on parking a half mile down the road,” Tom said. “It’s the middle of the night. For God’s sake, don’t get in that car.”  
  
Cherri’s mouth twitched in a half-smile. He released the doorknob, then ran a hand through his hair. A hint of sadness lingered in his expression.  
  
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I promise. I’ll call you tomorrow.”  
  
“Cherri,” Tom started to say, but Cherri was already heading out the door. Tom stood up and lifted the curtains. Cherri glanced around the parking lot, then switched on a flashlight and started off down the road. The light grew smaller and smaller until he disappeared behind a hill, swallowed up by the darkness.


	17. Chapter 17

A radio blasted from an open window when Tom and Kristan pulled up to the camp. The campers were scattered around the yard, washing clothes, peeling vegetables, smoking dried weeds wrapped in paper. Two children shrieked as they chased a clucking chicken around the yard. A few people looked up as they approached, but most of them were engrossed in their own activities. They marched up to the open doorway, where a man was leaning against the doorframe. His eyes were red and glassy.  
  
“Who the fuck are you?” he said.  
  
“We’re looking for Cherri Cola,” Tom said.  
  
“Yeah, we're friends of his,” Kristan said. “We’ve been calling him for two days and he’s not answering.”  
  
“Cherri Cola don’t answer to you,” the man said. He fiddled with a rubber band.  
  
“Look, we just want to know where he is,” Kristan said. “We’re worried about him.”  
  
“You don’t need to worry about Cherri,” he said. “How do you two know him, anyway? Because you’re sure as shit not fighters. Cherri could probably break you in half.”  
  
“I’m a salesman,” Tom said. “I’ve been coming here for the past several weeks.”  
  
“You’re what?” the man said. “Oh! Wait. Shit. I heard about you. You’re that fucking salesman.”  
  
“Yes, I’m the fucking salesman,” Tom said. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”  
  
“I just got here like a week ago,” the man said. He stuffed the rubber band in his mouth and tugged on it with his teeth. “All right. Fine. I’ll go see if I can find him. I know he likes you.”  
  
He chuckled and turned back inside, shutting the door behind him. “God, I was afraid you were going to get punched out again,” Kristan said.  
  
“I think about that every time I come here,” Tom said.  
  
They waited a few minutes, but the man didn’t return. Kristan frowned and peered between the wooden slats in a battered corner of the house. Nothing stirred in the dark living room. Tom knocked on the door, but no one answered. He hesitated, then opened the door. Curtains were draped over the windows. Voices murmured in one of the back rooms.  
  
“Do you think he’s injured?” Kristan said quietly.  
  
Tom didn’t respond. He stepped into the house with Kristan following behind him. Tattered furniture sat around the living room, with overflowing ashtrays on every table. The smell of smoke seemed to have soaked into the curtains. As they crept down the hallway, the voices grew louder. One of the doors stood open. Kristan rounded the corner, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Tom stepped back, feeling suddenly nauseous.  
  
The room was empty except for a stained mattress. A wire fan whirred on the floor, the cord trailing up through a hole in the window screen. Cherri was sprawled out on the mattress. At first glance, Tom thought he was dead, until he saw the steady rise and fall of his chest. His face was white and feverish. A bandage had been wrapped hastily around his arm.  
  
The voices abruptly cut out. The man stormed into the room, followed by a woman wearing an old bathrobe. “Hey!” the man said. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”  
  
“We need to get him out of here,” Kristan said frantically. “This looks bad.”  
  
“He ain’t going anywhere. Who the hell said you could come in here?”  
  
He reached for Kristan’s arm, but she whipped out her ray gun. In a flash, the man yanked his gun out of his jeans. Tom reached for his gun, his heart pounding. The woman stepped back toward the doorway.  
  
“We can’t leave him here,” Kristan said. “He looks sick. I bet he’s got an infection.”  
  
“Shut the fuck up, miss. You don’t know anything about an infection.”  
  
“He looks like he’s got a fever,” she said.  
  
“I said shut the fuck up,” he said. “You two better be careful, because the only reason I haven’t shot you yet is that Cherri would go apeshit when he wakes up.”  
  
“I’m not sure that he’s going to wake up,” Tom said grimly.  
  
“Was I talking to you, Drac boy?” he said. “Now get the fuck out of here. Both of you.”  
  
Neither of them moved. The man had started to move forward when the woman in the bathrobe suddenly spoke up. “Wait, hang on a second,” she said. “Your voice sounds familiar. Are you that radio DJ? DJ Hot Chimp?”  
  
“Yeah,” Kristan said, looking back and forth between the two people. “That’s me.”  
  
“You seem to have a lot of connections,” she said. “Do you ever listen to city broadcasts?”  
  
“I—why?” she said.  
  
“We’ve heard there’s going to be some Drac movement in a few days,” she said. “What have you heard about that?”  
  
Tom and Kristan exchanged looks. “Why do you want to know?” Tom said.  
  
“Hey, she’s not talking to you,” the man said.  
  
“Be quiet,” the woman said to Tom. “You don’t need to know why,” she said, turning to Kristan. “If you give us the info, we’ll let you take Cherri. Take him to the medics or whatever and bring him back when you’re done with him.”  
  
“Whoa, whoa, hang on,” the man said. “We can’t just give Cherri to these assholes.”  
  
“Hey, shush,” she hissed. “This is our only shot. No one around here knows anything.”  
  
Kristan gripped the ray gun. She held eye contact with the woman, then looked down at Cherri. His skin was pale and clammy. Her mind flashed back to Tom lying unresponsive on the bed, and she took a deep breath.  
  
“I’ll tell you what I know after we take him to the car,” she said.  
  
“How about you tell us everything now, and then we let you take him to the car,” the man said.  
  
“Half now, and half afterward,” she said.  
  
“All right,” the woman said, folding her arms. “Fair enough. So what have you heard?”  
  
Kristan closed her eyes, trying to remember. “They’re sending a team of Dracs out to Route Redwood to plant surveillance cameras,” she said. “I think there’s going to be three of them, possibly more. They’ll be armed.”  
  
“When?” the woman said. “What time?”  
  
Kristan raised her free hand. “That’s half of it,” she said. “I’ll get you the other half after we get Cherri out of here.”  
  
After a short argument, they finally agreed to let Tom and Kristan carry him out to the car. On their request, Tom parked the car behind the house so the rest of the campers wouldn’t see. Once Cherri was in the backseat, Kristan gave them the time and date: Thursday at nine A.M. The woman wrote the information down. Kristan felt like they were watching her even as they drove away from the house.  
  
“Was that true?” Tom said. “The information you gave them?”  
  
“Yeah, it was,” Kristan said. “I heard it on one of the city channels about a week ago.”  
  
“I’m not sure if I want to know what they’re going to do with it,” Tom muttered.  
  
“Yeah,” Kristan said. “Neither do I. But we’ve gotta get him out of there, Tom. He can’t keep going on like this.”  
  
“I know,” Tom said. His eyes flickered to the rearview mirror. Cherri was still unconscious in the backseat, his face dotted with sweat.  
  
When they returned to the house, they carried Cherri into the bedroom and radioed a medic. She arrived ten minutes later with a cracked leather bag of medical supplies. The medic hooked up him to a saline IV, then carefully unrolled the bandage. The burn was reddened and inflamed, with yellowish pus. Tom looked away as she cleaned the wound.  
  
Steve boiled bandages in a pot of water and hung them outside to dry. The medic wrapped Cherri’s arm with the sterilized bandages. She checked Cherri’s temperature, then laid a wet cloth on his forehead. She handed Tom a tattered box with the Better Living logo. Inside was a silver card with eight pills enclosed in plastic bubbles.  
  
“Make sure he takes these,” she said. “They’re antibiotics. The instructions are on the card.”  
  
“Do you have any painkillers?” Kristan said.  
  
“I’m afraid not,” she said. “Creosote tea can help, but he’ll probably have to tough it out. Try to keep his fever down. If it hasn’t gone down by the end of the night, call me again.”  
  
After she left, Kristan covered Cherri with a blanket and arranged a pillow under his head. “One of us should probably keep an eye on him,” she said, turning the wet towel over. Cherri was still pale, but some of the color had returned to his face.  
  
“I’ll cover it,” Tom said. “I’ve already canceled the supply pick-up.”  
  
Kristan raised her eyebrows in surprise. She opened the window to let the cool air in, then headed outside to find a creosote bush. She returned twenty minutes later with a small bucket of sprigs of flowers and leaves. She laid the bucket on the counter, then peered into the bedroom. Tom sat in the chair beside the bed, gazing out the window with an unreadable expression.  
  
“Hey,” Kristan said. He jumped and looked up. “Sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Has he woken up at all?”  
  
“No, he hasn’t,” Tom said.  
  
Kristan lifted the towel and laid a hand on his wet forehead. “I think his temperature’s going back to normal,” she said. “I’ll go get another towel.”  
  
She returned with another towel dipped in cool water. She laid it on Cherri’s forehead, streams of water trickling into his hair. Tom watched her silently.  
  
“Are you okay, Tom?” Kristan said quietly.  
  
“What?” he said. “Yes, I’m fine.”  
  
She nodded, then brisked out of the room. From the kitchen came the sounds of Steve talking quietly on the transmitter. Tom studied Cherri for a few minutes, then turned back to the window. A faint breeze played through the screen.  
  
After an indeterminable amount of time, Cherri began to stir. Tom looked up. Cherri blearily opened his eyes, then winced as he pushed himself to a sitting position. His hair fell over his face. “Hey,” he said, then coughed and cleared his throat. “What’s going on? Where am I?”  
  
“You’re at Steve and Kristan’s house,” Tom said. “Kristan and I brought you back here.”  
  
“Why? What happened?”  
  
Tom told him the story. Cherri sighed and sank back against the wall. “Shit,” he said, clutching his head with his hands. “They’re going to be so pissed that I left.”  
  
“Cherri, is there a reason that you’re not allowed to leave?” Tom said.  
  
“No, it’s not like that, it’s just—God, I should’ve gone to a medic from the beginning,” he said. “The guys mean well, but they don’t know what they’re doing. Did you meet the new guy? The guy who’s always chewing on the rubber band?”  
  
“We did, yes,” Tom said.  
  
“He tried to clean it out, but I don’t think he did a very good job,” Cherri said. “I’m sorry,” he added. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful. You guys have done so much for me.”  
  
“How are you feeling?” Tom said. He pressed the back of his hand against Cherri’s forehead. “You don’t feel hot.”  
  
“Yeah. I think the fever’s gone.” Cherri peered under the bandage, then wrapped it tightly again.  
  
“What happened to you?” Tom said.  
  
Cherri’s expression froze. He looked away, rubbing his neck. “It was stupid,” he said. “We got into a fight with another gang.”  
  
“Over what?”  
  
“Territory issues.”  
  
Tom raised his eyebrows. “Territory issues?”  
  
“Yeah. It’s a long story.” He gestured toward a bottle of water on the bedside table. “Can I—”  
  
Tom nodded. He cradled his head in his hand as Cherri drank.  
  
“Who are you fighting with?” he said when Cherri lowered the bottle.  
  
“It’s just a rival gang,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”  
  
“Who?” Tom said. “I wasn’t aware that there were any gangs out here.”  
  
“They’re out there, they just don’t come to town much,” Cherri said. “Like I said, it’s fine, man. Don’t worry about it.”  
  
“Cherri, you’re showing up with new injuries every other week,” Tom said. “It’s becoming increasingly difficult for me not to wonder what goes on in this camp.”  
  
“It’s nothing, man.”  
  
“It’s nothing? Nearly dying of an infection is nothing?”  
  
“That’s not what I meant,” Cherri said, rubbing his eyes.  
  
“For Christ’s sake, Cherri, what’s going on? I’ve been a salesman in the Zones for ten years and even I don’t get the shit kicked out of me with this kind of frequency.”  
  
“It’s nothing!” Cherri said in a strained voice. “Jesus Christ, Tom, just shut the fuck up for five seconds. Please.”  
  
Tom fell silent. Cherri leaned forward and rubbed his face with his hands. When he looked up, his eyes were wet.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just—I really don’t want to talk about the camp right now.”  
  
“You don’t owe them anything, Cherri,” Tom said.  
  
“That’s not true,” Cherri said. “They took me in when I first came out here. Nobody else would help me. You guys and the camp are the only people that have ever given me the time of day.”  
  
Cherri dropped his hands in his lap and twisted his fingers. His entire body seemed to wilt, like a plant sagging under the weight of its leaves.  
  
After Cherri climbed out of bed and changed into a set of clothes that Steve gave him, the four of them ate dinner in the kitchen. A pot of watery stew sat in the middle of the table. As Cherri ate, he started shifting in his seat and rubbing at his gums. Occasionally he twitched or jerked as if a finger had trailed down his spine. Tom and Kristan exchanged looks. Steve sighed and straightened in his seat.  
  
“Are you all right, Cherri?” Steve said.  
  
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Cherri said. “It’s just…”  
  
“You going through withdrawals?”  
  
Cherri nodded with his eyes lowered.  
  
“You got any supply left?”  
  
Cherri dug a plastic bag out of his pocket. “Not much,” he said. Barely a centimeter of powder dusted the bottom of the bag.  
  
Steve waved a hand. “All right,” he said quietly. “Go on. Do what you need to do.”  
  
Kristan’s eyes widened. Tom lowered his fork, looking at him in disbelief.  
  
“Steve, what are you doing?” Tom said.  
  
“Look, I’ve seen guys like this in the wars,” Steve said. “He doesn’t need to be going through withdrawals right now. It’ll make it ten times worse.”  
  
“You don’t think it’ll affect his immune system?” Tom said.  
  
“Not as much as withdrawals will,” Steve said. “Trust me, you don’t want him to go through that shit. It’s like a bad case of the flu.”  
  
“Steve, you can’t be telling him to use fuzz in this house,” he said. “That’s like telling him to shoot up heroin.”  
  
“Tom, do you have a better idea?” Steve said. “Because right now, my main priority is getting that infection cleared up. Once that’s done, we can worry about getting him off the fuzz.”  
  
“It’s really not that strong,” Cherri said. “I know it seems like it, but it’s not that bad. It just feels like a hangover.”  
  
“Well, we can talk about this later,” Steve said. “Go on, Cherri. Do what you gotta do.”  
  
“I’m not watching this,” Tom said. Shaking his head, he stood up and headed out of the room. After a moment’s silence, Cherri excused himself to the bedroom. He returned with watery eyes, but the nervous twitch was gone.  
  
“You okay, Cherri?” Kristan said.  
  
“I’m okay,” he said, sitting down at the table. “Thank you.”  
  
After dinner, Steve and Cherri sat on the porch, washing laundry in a bucket of soapy water. Cherri’s hands were hard and calloused, with dirt crusted around the nails. His skin was leathery and tanned. He squeezed and twisted the clothes as if he were wringing water out of a sponge.  
  
“You been working out, kid?” Steve said.  
  
“What?” Cherri said. “Oh, no. Just training, mostly.”  
  
“Training for what?”  
  
“Training for fights,” Cherri said. “They just teach us how to defend ourselves. Throwing a punch, shooting a ray gun, that kind of thing.”  
  
“Ah,” Steve said.  
  
Cherri wrung out a T-shirt, then hung it on the line to dry. Water dripped from the fabric in rivulets.  
  
“Bet you guys go through a lot of laundry at the camp,” Steve said. “You’ve got, what, about two dozen people over there?”  
  
“More than that,” Cherri said. “We don’t even really wash it. We just toss it in a net and hang it from a tree above the river. The water washes all the dirt away.”  
  
Steve laughed. “Oh yeah?” he said. “That’s pretty smart.”  
  
“Yeah, we tried to wash everything by hand, but it was too much work,” Cherri said. “People usually start off washing their laundry by hand, but after a while, they just throw it in the laundry bucket with everything else.”  
  
“You guys don’t get your clothes mixed up?”  
  
“Oh, we do, but it’s not a big deal,” Cherri said. “We’re friends. Well, most of us are. We share everything.”  
  
Steve nodded as he wrung out a bandana. “So who runs the show over there?” he said. “Who owns the place?”  
  
“Nobody really owns it,” Cherri said. “I mean, Peter Glass owns the house, and he deals with the supplies, but he doesn’t really own the camp. Nobody really runs the place.”  
  
“Where do you guys get all these supplies?” Steve said. “Seems to me like you’ve got a lot of people to feed.”  
  
Cherri didn’t look up. He scrubbed a shirt sleeve, wiped off the soap lather, then scrubbed it again. “The guys go on scavenging trips every week,” he said after a moment. “I mean, they don’t bring back a huge haul, but it’s something. You know we do a lot of trade with Tom. He’s helped us out a lot. And we’ve got a garden, too.”  
  
“It just seems strange to me,” Steve said. “We’ve got a garden, and Tom’s helped us out with supplies, but we’re still struggling. And we’ve got like, one-tenth of the people.”  
  
“I think having more people helps, actually,” Cherri said. “More people working together, you know? More minds to figure stuff out.”  
  
Steve nodded. He dunked a pair of jeans in the soapy water. Cherri scrubbed at a sweatshirt. A bird flew over the porch, twittering loudly.  
  
“Kid, can I ask you something?” Steve said, lowering the jeans.  
  
“Yeah!” Cherri said. “Sure. What is it?”  
  
“Tom said he saw a Drac mask laying in the house a few weeks ago,” Steve said. “I’ve just gotta ask. You guys aren’t messing around with Dracs, are you?”  
  
“What?” Cherri said quickly. “Oh, no. No. Nothing like that.”  
  
“I just want to make sure,” Steve said. “Because these Dracs aren’t something to fuck with.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Cherri said, not looking at him. “Trust me. We don’t underestimate them.”  
  
Steve hung the dripping pants on the clothesline. “I think a lot of people, especially the younger ones, see the Dracs as some kind of joke,” he said. “Like a stuffy police force or something. But those guys are ruthless. Did anyone ever tell you about our fight with a couple of Dracs a while back?”  
  
Cherri looked up. “What happened?” he said.  
  
“Years ago, Kristan got in trouble for having a pirate radio station,” Steve said. “The city sent a couple of Dracs over. They were pissed. We started fighting, and one of the Dracs took a knife out and stabbed Tom in the side. He nearly bled to death. If the medics had showed up just a few minutes later, he probably would have died.”  
  
Cherri’s expression went cold. “That’s horrible,” he said.  
  
“These guys are assholes,” Steve said. “Believe me. I was in the military, and I can tell you that they purposely choose the cockiest, most arrogant people, because they’re the ones that’ll put the fear of God in you. And if you mess around with the wrong one, you might find yourself getting killed.”  
  
“I believe it,” Cherri said, rubbing his neck. “They’re awful, man. I’ve heard so many stories.”  
  
“I’m just warning you,” Steve said. “Stay away from these guys. I don’t want you turning up in a body bag.”  
  
“Yeah,” Cherri said. “Of course not.”  
  
His brow was creased as he squeezed the sweatshirt in the water. The dog tags hung from his neck, glinting in the sunlight.


	18. Chapter 18

Steve carefully wheeled down the aisles of the glass shop. Glass cups and bottles lined the shelves, some made of clear glass, others tinted green or orange. A basket of glass beads sat on the counter. August grabbed a blue bottle off the shelf and casually turned it around as if it were made of plastic.  
  
“Look at this,” August said. “Isn’t it beautiful? Oh my God. I just love glass.”  
  
“It’s pretty nice,” Steve said. “I don’t see a lot of handmade glass out here. Usually it’s either from the city or the old days.”  
  
“We have glass from the old days, too,” August said. “Old Mary has a pickle dish that’s sixty years old. It’s bright red.” He set the bottle down and picked up an orange glass. “Oh my God. I love the color orange.”  
  
Steve laughed. “Why don’t you just buy out the whole store?” he said.  
  
“I would if I could,” August said. “Trust me. I’d buy everything.”  
  
Eventually, August settled on a pink bracelet hanging from a rack near the entrance. After some urging, Steve bought a blue glass disc with an eye painted on the front. The talisman hung from a thin leather strip. The shopkeeper packed the disc in a box with tightly crumpled newspapers. As they walked back outside, Steve clutched the box as if it held a stack of carbons.  
  
“You’re going to love that talisman,” August said. “Whenever people buy one, their friends are always asking _Where’d you get it?_ It’s so popular. And it’s so well-made, too. Mine has survived three dust storms and there’s not a scratch on it.”  
  
“They’re supposed to what, ward off evil?” Steve said.  
  
“Yup,” August said. “Oh, hey! There’s Mary. Are you hungry?”  
  
A woman was pushing a rattling cart down the road. Food, magazines, herbs, and tea bags were arranged inside. They bought vegetable kebobs and headed for an abandoned food shack. The walls were painted bright blue and decorated with paintings of birds and flowers. August sat on the concrete steps and tore the grilled vegetables off the stick with his teeth.  
  
“Man, Mary grows some good veggies,” August said. “These are right out of her garden.”  
  
“No kidding?” Steve said. “Maybe we should make these at the house one day.”  
  
“Oh my God. Yes. They’re so good. Did you get one with peppers on it?” August leaned over. “Her peppers are so good. People are always asking her what the secret is. And she just says—” Pony adopted a high, scratchy voice. “ _You know what my secret is? I actually take care of my garden instead of screwing around like most of these eggheads do._ ”  
  
Steve laughed. As he ate, the vegetables tasted unusually juicy and fresh.  
  
“We should go watch the glassblowers after this,” August said, then stopped and looked up. “Oh wait. Shit. You have to get back, don’t you?”  
  
“Yeah, I better get back by three,” Steve said, his mood deflating. “Kristan’ll kill me if I miss another broadcast.”  
  
“Why doesn’t she just get Tommy to do it?” August said.  
  
“Tom,” Steve said. “Quit calling him that. And he doesn’t want to do it.” Steve laughed. “I don’t think he’s too popular with the listeners anyway. He did it a couple of times when I was gone, and Kristan said he and some guy got into it.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” August said.  
  
“Yeah, this guy called in and said he didn’t like how he read an obituary. He said it wasn’t sensitive enough or something. I don’t know. Tom just doesn’t have a good voice for that.”  
  
“He doesn’t have a good voice for any emotion,” August said. Steve gave him a look. “I’m sorry, Steve, but he sounds like an android.”  
  
“He’s not an android,” Steve said. “He has emotions. He’s just—very blunt about it.” He laughed a little. “Anyway, we better start heading back to your house if you want to show me those pictures before we leave. Kristan probably wants me back there by noon.”  
  
August nodded and plucked the last onion off the kebob, then jammed the stick in the ground. He stood up, chewing loudly. “Let’s go,” he said. “I’ve got some magazines I want to give you, too. I’ve had them sitting around for ages.”  
  
They talked and laughed as they headed back to August’s house, a shack squeezed between a community garden and a house surrounded by a chain-link fence. August talked and waved to the chickens clucking inside the fence. He showed Steve the Polaroids that he and Nathan had taken at a bonfire the previous night, then dug a stack of old music magazines out of the closet. By the time Steve had flipped through them, it was five minutes to noon.  
  
“Well, looks like we better get back,” August said. But he sighed and rested his feet on the kitchen table. Steve didn’t move. He flipped through one of the magazines, then closed it and pushed it away. August laughed good-naturedly.  
  
“You don’t want to go, do you?” August said.  
  
“No,” Steve muttered. “I mean—Jesus, I shouldn’t say that. I just wish I could stay here for a while, you know?”  
  
“I get it,” August said, eating a jar of canned peaches. “Hey, maybe you could call Kristan. I mean, you’re going to be late anyway, right? She might as well call Cherri or somebody.”  
  
“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have done this,” Steve said. “I should’ve left earlier.”  
  
“Just say you lost track of time,” August said. “Which is true. You’re not lying.”  
  
Steve sighed and pushed his hair back. “I know I shouldn’t be talking like this,” he said. “God knows she took me in when no one else would. I just…man, I don’t know. I just get so sick of the atmosphere in that house.”  
  
“It is kind of depressing,” August said.  
  
“Well, Kristan tries to be upbeat,” Steve said. “But she’s just so high-strung. I mean, you know how she reacted when you called in on the show. It’s like—if she’s not in complete control, she can’t deal with it. She can’t just sit back and relax.”  
  
“To be honest, I thought she kind of gave off that vibe,” August said. He poked the spoon around in the jar.  
  
“Yeah,” Steve said. “I mean, she’s done a lot for me, don’t get me wrong. But her and Tom together—God, don’t even get me started on Tom.” He laughed humorlessly. “You know, when I first met him, he was friendlier than this. He even seemed to have a shred of optimism, if you can believe that. But now he’s just so cold toward everything.”  
  
“I know people who call him a Drac all the time,” August said.  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Steve said. “You know, I’ve never said this to him, but that shit he went through with the Dracs—I think it changed him.”  
  
“Did it?” August said sadly.  
  
“Yeah,” Steve said. “I mean, I don’t want you to think that he’s always like this. He can be kind, too. But after that whole incident, after almost dying…he’s just never really been the same. I mean, I think the desert was starting to wear him down, but I think that was his turning point.”  
  
August looked at him sympathetically. Steve drummed his fingertips on the table, then stuffed the magazines back in the paper bag.  
  
“Let’s just get out of here,” he said finally.  
  
“Are you sure?” August said.  
  
“Yeah. I can’t stay here forever.”  
  
“I wouldn’t complain if you did,” August said.  
  
Steve laughed faintly. “Well, it’s not going to happen,” he said. He paused for a moment, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Then he grabbed the box with the talisman and followed Pony out the door, where a crowd was already forming around the glassmakers in the street.  
  
When he returned to the house, Kristan sat at the kitchen table with a bowl of vinegar. Their silverware was lined up on a towel. Her eyes flickered up to Steve when he wheeled inside. “Hey,” she said flatly. She wiped one of the forks with a wet rag, then laid it back on the towel.  
  
“Hey, Kristan,” Steve said. “Sorry I missed the broadcast.”  
  
“Tom and I did it,” she said.  
  
“Really? You got Tom to do it?”  
  
“He was going to use the radio anyway,” she said. “He called his mother.”  
  
“Are they yelling at each other in German yet?”  
  
“No clue,” Kristan said, dipping the rag in the vinegar. Her voice had a slight edge.  
  
Steve dropped the paper bag on the table and took out the stack of magazines. “August gave us some old music magazines,” he said. “I thought you might get some use out of them.”  
  
Kristan closed her eyes and shook her head in annoyance. Steve looked at her, then grabbed the magazines and stuffed them back in the bag. “Or I could just tell him that you don’t want shit,” he said. “How about that?”  
  
“Steve, why don’t you just turn around and go back home with August?” Kristan said.  
  
“The hell is that supposed to mean?” he said. “You don’t want me to come home now? Because all I’ve heard is complaints whenever I go out with him.”  
  
“You’re barely home, and when you are, you come home late,” she said. “Or you come in dragging August. Why don’t you just move in with him?”  
  
“Jesus Christ, Kristan, first you don’t want me to leave, and now you get pissed when I get back?” he said. “Maybe I should leave. At least I won’t have to deal with your and Tom’s bullshit.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Kristan said, dropping the fork. “All you get from us is bullshit. Sorry we can’t be like a fucking sixteen-year-old with no responsibilities except smoking weed all day.”  
  
“Hey, he has responsibilities,” Steve said. “Kid delivers the mail every morning. Don’t act like he’s just some stupid kid that doesn’t know what he’s doing.”  
  
“He’s sixteen years old, Steve, you think he has anything figured out?” Kristan said. “He’s just some kid who loves you because you’re Dr. Death Defying. And once he figures out that you’re not him, he’s going to take off and you’ll never hear from him again.”  
  
Steve’s expression went cold. Anger bubbled in the back of his throat. He was about to respond when Tom burst into the room, carrying a radio. He dropped the radio on the counter. A voice chattered from the speakers.  
  
“You haven’t been listening to the radio, have you?” he said.  
  
“Tom, this is not a good time,” Steve said.  
  
Tom shook his head. “Be quiet,” he said, turning up the volume. “Listen.”  
  
“— _around Route Redwood_ ,” the radio DJ said. “ _We’ve heard that a couple of people went out to check the scene, but we haven’t heard back from them_ —”  
  
“What’s going on?” Kristan said.  
  
“Three Dracs were found dead on Route Redwood,” Tom said. “It looked like they were part of a surveillance team.”  
  
Kristan went pale. Her eyes flickered back and forth.  
  
“That’s the team that I told the camp about,” she said. “Isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes, it is,” Tom said.  
  
“— _might be here all night,_ ” the DJ said. “ _The city’s not releasing much detail. I don’t think they’ve even got any suspects at the moment, but if there were any cameras around—_ ”  
  
“Oh my God,” Kristan said. “We need to call Cherri. Have you called him?”  
  
“I’ve tried, but he’s not answering,” Tom said.  
  
“Call him again. We’ve gotta get him over here.”  
  
Tom tried his frequency again, but heard nothing but static. They listened as the reports came in: three Draculoids had been found dead on the side of the highway, their clothes and ray guns stolen. Battery City had sent a Scarecrow unit to investigate. The Draculoids’ van had been found a few miles away with the technology stripped out. There were no suspects, but someone had claimed to see a stranger in a dark helmet running away from the scene.  
  
“There’s no way this is a coincidence,” Kristan said shakily. “Steve, didn’t you talk to Cherri about this a couple of days ago?”  
  
“Yeah, and he claimed they weren’t involved with Dracs,” he said. “I’m guessing that’s a load of bullshit.”  
  
“Maybe he really doesn’t know,” she said. “Maybe they’re lying to him. Telling him they’re just going on scavenging trips.”  
  
Steve shook his head, but didn’t respond. Tom stood next to the radio. A shadow had crossed over his face.  
  
“If we can’t reach him, maybe we should drive over there,” Kristan said.  
  
“We don’t need to be going over there,” Steve said. “These people are dangerous. In fact, if we do anything, they might get pissed and take it out on Cherri.”  
  
“But we can’t just leave him there,” she said. “He’s so convinced that they’re good people, but they’re not. These people are murderers.”  
  
Tom started to hear a faint ringing in his ears. Shaking his head, he stormed out to the porch and found Cherri’s frequency again. “Hello?” he said. “Cherri, for God’s sake, pick up.”  
  
The speaker crackled with static. Tom sighed through his teeth and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He tried again, but heard nothing but static. He tried Peter Glass’s frequency. No response. He felt the urge to throw the transmitter off the porch. He turned and marched back into the kitchen, where Steve had brought the radio to the table and was listening intently.  
  
“I’m going to the camp,” Tom said, sweeping past the table. Steve and Kristan’s heads shot up.  
  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Steve said. “Slow down. You can’t go over there.”  
  
“I can’t keep sitting here, waiting for a response,” Tom said.  
  
“But you can’t go marching in there,” Steve said. “We don’t know what the fuck’s going on over there, Tom. They might be getting swarmed with Scarecrows right this minute.”  
  
“Yeah, or they might be coming back with the stolen goods,” Kristan said. “If they see you, they might shoot you.”  
  
“People don’t fuck around with stolen goods,” Steve said. “You’re a salesman, no one knows that better than you.”  
  
“I can’t just leave Cherri there,” Tom said. “For all we know, maybe they’re starting to indoctrinate him. Maybe he’s part of this.”  
  
“He’s not part of this,” Steve said. “Just sit down, Tom. You can’t go over there. These people are capable of shooting Dracs. It’s not going to be any better for you.”  
  
Tom ran a hand through his hair. Strain was building behind his expression. Finally, he sat down at the table. Kristan reached over and patted his arm. They listened to the radio until the updates stopped and the reports became repetitive. Finally, Steve switched it off. His expression was weary.  
  
“Maybe something good will come out of this,” he muttered. “Maybe this’ll be enough to finally get Cherri away from that gang.”  
  
“He’ll probably deny it,” Kristan said. “He’ll say it was just a coincidence.”  
  
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Steve said. “Why he always defends these assholes is beyond me. God, we never should’ve let him leave.”  
  
“We couldn’t stop him, Steve,” Kristan said.  
  
“I know,” he said. “Jesus, maybe I should get Tim or somebody over here. See if they can talk some sense into him.”  
  
Tom called Cherri repeatedly as the day went on, but received no response. The three of them hovered around the radio. Once Kristan half-heartedly suggested making lunch, but none of them had an appetite. They moved listlessly through their daily chores. When the sun started to set, Kristan announced on the radio that their broadcast had been canceled for the night. She built a campfire outside and stirred beans in a pan. They ate at the dinner table in silence, a candle casting a flickering light over the walls.  
  
Finally, Tom stepped out onto the porch, where the night breeze was starting to blow. He gripped the porch railing and leaned forward. “Hello?” he said into the transmitter. “Cherri? Are you there?”  
  
For the first time, something shifted and crackled in the static. “ _Hey_ ,” Cherri said. “ _What’s wrong? Are you guys okay?_ ”  
  
Tom sank forward with relief, covering his face with his hand. “No, we’re fine,” he said. “Jesus, Cherri. I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”  
  
“ _Oh!_ ” Cherri said. “ _Oh, I’m so sorry, man. I had my transmitter switched off. I went on a scavenging trip. What’s going on?_ ”  
  
“Where are you?” Tom said.  
  
“ _I’m at the camp_.”  
  
“All right. Come to the house. We need to talk to you.”  
  
“ _Are you guys okay?_ ”  
  
“Yes, we’re fine. Just get here as soon as you can.”  
  
Tom waited at the kitchen table with Steve and Kristan. Half an hour later, a pair of headlights illuminated the windows. Cherri knocked on the door. When he stepped inside, his hair was ruffled and his clothes were stiff with sweat, as if he’d been running. The dog tags hung around his neck. “Hey,” he said. “What’s going on?”  
  
“Sit down, Cherri,” Tom said, closing the door behind him. He walked over to the table. Cherri sat next to Steve and laced his fingers together, looking at Tom expectantly.  
  
“Have you been listening to the radio?” Tom said.  
  
“Not really,” Cherri said. “I listened to a couple of broadcasts on the way back, but that’s it.”  
  
Tom took a breath. “When Kristan and I bargained for your release, your camp wanted information about a team of Dracs,” he said. “They were heading to Route Redwood to install surveillance equipment. They were supposed to arrive today at nine A.M.”  
  
Cherri suddenly stiffened. His face went still with growing apprehension.  
  
“Around noon, I started hearing reports on the radio that a Drac unit had been killed,” Tom said. “The reports said they were found on Route Redwood. The van was found stripped a few miles away. The technology was gone, but I think it’s safe to assume that they were out here for a reason.”  
  
Cherri closed his eyes. He laced his fingers together and pressed his hands against his mouth as if he were praying.  
  
“Cherri, this isn’t a coincidence,” Steve said gently. “Honestly, I’ve been suspicious of these guys ever since the day that you turned up with a bruise on your face. That doesn’t happen in most camps.”  
  
“Have they ever done anything to you?” Kristan said. “Have they hurt you?”  
  
“No, no,” Cherri said quietly. His eyes were lowered.  
  
“Have they threatened you?” Tom said.  
  
“No. Of course not.”  
  
“Cherri, if you’re afraid of these guys, we know people that can protect you,” Steve said. “We’re in touch with the war vets. And nobody fucks with the war vets. They’re the hardest group of guys out here.”  
  
Cherri didn’t look up. Tom placed both hands on the table and leaned forward.  
  
“Cherri,” he said. “What’s going on at the camp?”  
  
Cherri took a deep, shaky breath. Stress was etched into the lines of his face.  
  
“Look,” he said, lowering his hands. “I know this is going to be hard for you guys to understand...”  
  
Tom drew back. For the first time, he realized that it wasn’t fear on Cherri’s face, but resignation. As if he had known this day was coming, and he’d been waiting for it ever since the day that he and Tom had first met at the camp.  
  
“You were there today, weren’t you,” Tom said quietly.  
  
Stunned silence fell over the room. Steve and Kristan looked at him in shock.  
  
“Yes,” Cherri said. “But look, man, before you say anything, let me try to explain—”  
  
“Did you shoot those Dracs?”  
  
“I shot one of them,” Cherri said.  
  
“You killed him?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Tom closed his eyes and looked away. Something seemed to be dying inside him.  
  
“Wait, wait,” Steve said. “Hang on. How do we know you’re not lying to protect these guys?”  
  
“I’m not lying,” Cherri said quietly.  
  
“Yeah? Show us the proof.”  
  
Cherri hesitated, then turned over one of the dog tags and held it up. Six marks had been scratched into the surface with a pocketknife.  
  
“That’s my number of kills,” he said. “I mean, that’s why they call me Agent. Agent Cherri Cola. We’re the Soldiers for Peace, man, it’s—it’s what we do.”  
  
Tom started to feel light-headed. He stepped away from the table, clutching his head.  
  
“Tom,” Cherri said. “I promise you, this isn’t what it looks like—”  
  
“Is this what you were doing whenever I couldn’t reach you?” Tom said.  
  
“Yeah,” Cherri said. “Sometimes. I’m sorry, man.”  
  
“Is this what the scavenging trips were really about?”  
  
“No, the trips were real,” Cherri said quickly. “Well, some of them. We don’t really go every week.”  
  
“Did you sell me supplies from the Dracs that you killed?”  
  
“Sometimes,” Cherri said quietly.  
  
Tom gripped the kitchen counter and leaned forward. He felt dizzy, as if he’d lost his balance. Images flashed through his mind of Cherri ambushing a squad of Draculoids, yanking them out of their cars, throwing them down on the highway. A burst of light flashing from his ray gun as he fired.  
  
“Tom, I’m sorry I lied to you,” Cherri said. “But look—you guys don’t know what goes on out there. There are Dracs coming out here all the time, way more than you hear about on the radio. There’s more surveillance than you realize. And we’ve stopped Dracs from kidnapping people and taking them back to the city. You don’t know what kind of shit goes on out here.”  
  
“I don’t care,” Tom said. “For Christ’s sake, Cherri, I don’t care. The fact that you’ve gone out and murdered people—”  
  
“These aren’t people, man,” Cherri said. “These are monsters. Steve told me about that Drac that stabbed you. And that wasn’t just a one-time thing, Tom—they’re savages. You don’t know what kind of shit I’ve seen out here in the Zones.”  
  
“I’ve seen lots of shit,” Tom said. “We all have. We’ve all been abused by Dracs. But I never bought a gun and started shooting. There must be something fundamentally wrong with you, Cherri, if you think you can justify killing someone.”  
  
“I am justified,” Cherri said. “You have no idea what goes on out here, Tom. I never talked about it because I didn’t want to scare you, but they lie, they cheat, they kidnap, and they murder. I’ve seen videos of them burning whole villages down. I know you guys don’t know this, but there’s a silent war out in the Zones. The city’s trying to move in, and we’re the only thing that’s holding them back.”  
  
Tom shook his head in disgust. “Get out, Cherri,” he said. “Just get out of my sight. I don’t want to see you again.”  
  
“How is this different from Steve?” Cherri burst out. “How is this different from what he did in the wars?”  
  
“Okay, first off, you don’t know shit about the Helium Wars, so don’t even bring that up,” Steve said. “And second, he told you to leave. Go on. Get out of here.”  
  
Cherri slowly stood up, shaking his head. “I would never hurt you guys,” he said. “If that’s what you’re worried about—I’d never hurt you. I promise.”  
  
“Just get out, Cherri,” Steve said.  
  
Cherri cast one final look around the room, then trudged out the door. Tom looked away. When the car started outside, he closed his eyes and swept out of the kitchen. The rest of the house was dark except for the thin bluish light behind the curtains. The darkness seemed to be rising up and swallowing him, like a thick fog choking the entire house.


	19. Chapter 19

In the weeks that followed, Steve spent more time with August than ever, sometimes leaving for a day or two at a time. Kristan continued to give the daily broadcasts, but her enthusiasm was gone. She scanned the radio waves for repair and engineering jobs in the surrounding areas. Cherri called the house a few times, then abruptly stopped. They never heard from him after that. Tom started to find work in more remote locations. Kristan accompanied him when she could, but she often found herself alone in an empty house.  
  
Occasionally she heard stories about Dracs being sighted in the desert. Tom once told her that he drove past a Draculoid van parked on the side of the highway. But they never heard any mention of Cherri or the Soldiers for Peace. As summer drew to a close, Tom helped Kristan harvest fruits and vegetables from the garden. He sold what little they could spare, but their savings still dwindled. Steve continued to spend most of his time with August. Kristan started to suspect that he only returned home because August wanted to hear him on the broadcast.  
  
One night, Tom returned to the house to find Kristan stirring a pot of onion soup. “Well, you’re just in time,” she said. She ladled the soup into bowls and sat down at the table.  
  
“Thank you,” Tom said, sitting across from her. “Is Steve coming home tonight?”  
  
“Doubt it,” she said. She lit a candle and set it in the middle of the table. “I think he’s going to be gone all of tomorrow, too. He and August are going to a concert or something, I don’t know.”  
  
“Why doesn’t he just move in with August?” Tom said.  
  
Kristan laughed shortly. “Yeah. That’s what I’m saying.”  
  
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Rain pattered outside the window.  
  
“I hate this time of year,” Kristan said after a while. “It always gets me thinking about when my mother died.”  
  
“Does it?” Tom said.  
  
“Yeah. It was so sudden. She just got the diagnosis out of nowhere, and six months later—” Kristan snapped her fingers. “She was gone.”  
  
Tom nodded. “My mother had a friend who died of bone cancer,” he said. “It took him in a matter of weeks.”  
  
“I think that’s what got Steve’s mother, too,” Kristan said. “Or his aunt. I can’t remember.” She toyed with her spoon. “They did a bunch of tests when we came to the city. I think I got tested five times for radiation poisoning.”  
  
“I was tested every year until I turned ten,” Tom said. “And I was only out in the desert for a few months.”  
  
“I guess they didn’t want to take any chances,” she said.  
  
She stirred her soup, then blew on a spoonful to cool it. The rainfall outside had slowed to a trickle.  
  
“You don’t remember anything about the desert, do you?” she said.  
  
Tom shook his head. “I was only a few weeks old.”  
  
“I don’t remember much,” she said. “I remember traveling through a forest once. All the trees had been scorched. It looked like a bunch of black twigs sticking up out of the ground.”  
  
“You traveled through a forest?” Tom said.  
  
“Yeah, it was somewhere in northern California,” she said. “I have no idea where now.” She sighed and stirred her soup. “I remember traveling on a train, too.”  
  
He raised his eyebrows. “A train?” he said.  
  
“Yeah, nobody ever believes me when I tell them that,” she said. “They say that I’m misremembering it and it was probably a bus. But I remember the sound. I couldn’t tell you who was operating it, but it was a train.”  
  
“I’ve heard stories about other settlements outside the Zones,” Tom said. “In the city, there was a rumor that Better Living had made contact with Great Britain.”  
  
“Really?” Kristan said. “That’d be something.”  
  
She took a bite of toast. As she scraped up the remaining soup in the bowl, something faintly creaked outside. Tom and Kristan both looked up. After a few moments, they relaxed again. When they stood up to clear the table, something creaked on the back porch, followed by a scratching sound. They exchanged tense glances. Kristan slowly laid the bowls on the counter, then drew out her ray gun.  
  
“You stay back,” she whispered. When he started to protest, she said “No! Stay back. I might need you to call the vets.”  
  
Kristan gripped her ray gun tightly as she crept through the house. The creaking came again, as if someone were standing on a loose floorboard. A figure was silhouetted through the back window. Kristan’s heart rate accelerated. She slowly reached for the doorknob, then yanked the door open and aimed the gun at the figure’s head.  
  
“Get back!” she shouted. “Put your hands up!”  
  
A potted plant teetered off the porch railing and crashed to the ground. The figure jumped back and raised his hands. He appeared to be around August’s age, with scruffy dark hair and angular features. Bandages were wrapped around his left wrist and forearm. His eyes were wide and frightened.  
  
“Whoa, shit,” he said. “Don’t shoot. I’m sorry. Let me explain.”  
  
“Who are you?” Kristan said.  
  
“I’m just a drifter,” he said. “I’ve got these burns up and down my arm, look—” He pulled down the bandages, revealing shiny pink burns. “I just came up here because I saw you had aloe vera on the porch.”  
  
“What’s going on?” Tom said, stepping in the doorway behind Kristan.  
  
“This kid has burns on his arm,” Kristan said. “He was trying to steal the aloe vera.”  
  
“That’s all I was trying to do,” the boy said. “I wasn’t going to break in. I swear.”  
  
“How do you know that you’re not with the Soldiers for Peace?” Tom said.  
  
The boy turned and coughed into his shoulder. “Hell no, I’m not with the Soldiers for Peace,” he said. “I hate those assholes. I’m actually from the city, if that means anything. I just left about a month ago.”  
  
He pulled a battered ID card out of his bag. His face was printed on the card under the name _Vsevolod Ilyich Vasiliev_.  
  
“Don’t share that around, by the way,” he said. He tucked the card in his bag. “I don’t need people knowing that I’m Russian. Just call me Sev.”  
  
“Is there a reason that you couldn’t go to the market?” Tom said.  
  
“Look, I can’t afford that,” Sev said. “They’re asking five carbons for a tiny little glob of aloe. I’ve barely got enough to eat.”  
  
“You know, if you would’ve just knocked on our door and asked, we might’ve given it to you,” Kristan said. “Did you ever think about that?”  
  
“I couldn’t take that risk,” Sev said. “I’ve had people try to blow me away before. Not everybody feels like giving away free donations.”  
  
“Well, neither are we,” she said. “You blew it, kid.”  
  
“Wait!” Sev said. “Look. I know I can’t pay, but I’ll work for you. I’ve been all over the Zones. I’ve worked my ass off. If you’ve got something to do, I’ll do it.” He wrinkled his nose and snorted. When he wiped his nose, Tom thought he saw a streak of blood.  
  
“We don’t have anything for you,” she said. “If you want to find work, try going to town.”  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Sev said. “Look, if I don’t get this treated, I could get an infection and die. I’m sorry I tried to steal from you. Just help me out here. You’re the only people in this area that have even bothered to talk to me.”  
  
“We don’t give supplies to thieves,” Tom said.  
  
Sev raised his hands. “Fine,” he said. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll go crawl off somewhere and die from an infection.”  
  
He hitched his bag over his shoulder. As he turned toward the porch steps, he suddenly stumbled and fell against the railing. He gripped the railing and pushed himself up. His face was clammy and pale.  
  
“Sorry,” he said. “Lost my balance.”  
  
He gripped the railing as he staggered forward. Something stirred in Tom’s memory—the videos he had seen in school, the fliers that were plastered around the city and the Zones. He stepped forward.  
  
“Wait,” he said. “Where have you been in the Zones?”  
  
“I’ve been everywhere,” Sev said without looking back. “Up, down, around, all over the place.”  
  
“Have you been outside the Zones?”  
  
Sev stopped, then slowly turned around. “What’s it matter to you?” he said.  
  
“Where did you get those burns?”  
  
“A campfire.”  
  
“That’s not true,” Tom said. “Where did you find the radiation?”  
  
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Sev said.  
  
“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”  
  
Sev glared at him. He gestured uselessly toward the mountains, then dropped his arm, his mouth open as if he were about to speak.  
  
“I know people who would be very interested in knowing what’s outside the Zones,” Tom said.  
  
“Yeah. So does everybody else.”  
  
“The difference is that I’ve been a salesman for ten years,” Tom said. “I have connections to the black market. If you tell me what’s out there, I’ll help you negotiate a deal for the treatment.”  
  
For the first time, Sev started to look interested. Then his expression hardened. “Hang on,” he said. “Why are you dressed like you just stepped out of the city?”  
  
Tom sighed. “Sev, he’s not a Drac,” Kristan said. “I’ve known him for years.”  
  
“Yeah? How do you know?”  
  
“Do you really think he’d dress like this if he was a double agent?”  
  
“He might, I don’t know what the fuck these Dracs do—”  
  
“Sev, do you want my help or not?” Tom said. “Because if you don’t get treated, you could be looking at a painful death.”  
  
Sev fell silent. He gripped the strap on his leather bag. His eyes were lowered.  
  
“Look, I’ll tell you what I saw,” he said. “But you better get in touch with the black market right afterward. I’m not leaving until the deal is finished.”  
  
“Of course,” Tom said. “Stay there. You can have a seat in that chair. I’ll be right back.”  
  
Sev slumped down in one of the porch chairs and stretched out his legs. His face was wet with cold sweat. He dropped his bag beside him and wiped his nose again. A faint streak of blood smeared across his hand.  
  
\---  
  
“So how’s it going with the Honeydew Two?” August said. He walked through the market, a basket swinging from his arm. A crowd of people bustled around the highway. Colorful blankets were propped up on sticks, casting a shade over the tables. A tab hissed as someone nearby opened a can of soda.  
  
“Not too bad, from what I’ve heard,” Steve said. “Kristan got a job fixing up an old radio, she said it’ll probably take about a week. And Tom’s actually looking into opening a store soon. He found this old food shack about six miles away. If he can get that running, he says he might be able to afford to get his own place.”  
  
“Well, that’s exciting,” August said.  
  
“We’ll see,” Steve said. “Hang on, I want to check out these records.”  
  
Steve flipped through a box of old records while August peered at an old painting propped up against a table. They stopped at a food stand and bought strips of charred blackbird, which they ate while watching the crowd. After lunch, August tried on shimmery scarves that were draped over a rack. Steve smiled, but his thoughts wandered back to years ago, when Kristan had tried on jewelry at the market.  
  
They weaved through the crowd and stopped at a rack of books. The rack held shiny paperbacks from the city, yellowed books from years past, and crumbling, leathery tomes. August grabbed one of the old books and read passages out loud, turning the crisp yellow pages.  
  
“I don’t know how anybody can just sit and read,” Steve said. “I never had the patience for it.”  
  
“You don’t?” August said. “But it’s so much fun! I love reading.”  
  
“I get the appeal, I just couldn’t get into it,” he said.  
  
“Well, pooh on you,” August said. He slammed the book closed. “I’m buying this. I don’t even know what it’s about, but I’m buying it.”  
  
Steve laughed as August walked up to the booth to pay. “How are you boys doing today?” said the woman behind the desk.  
  
“We’re just excellent, thank you,” August said.  
  
“Are you a war veteran, sir?” she said to Steve.  
  
“Yes ma’am,” he said. “Fought in the Analog Wars.”  
  
“Well, thank you for your service,” she said. She tucked a piece of paper in the back cover, then handed August the book with a smile. He tucked it under his arm and headed off down the street.  
  
An hour later, they returned to August’s house with the book, a pound of wrinkly carrots, a red glass talisman, and a spool of thread. Tall weeds and grasses sprouted around the stone path that led to August’s doorway. He hung the talisman on the porch next to other trinkets and wind chimes that tinkled in the breeze.  
  
“I cannot wait to start reading,” August said. “I haven’t had a new book in weeks.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Steve said. “What are you going to do if it’s boring?”  
  
“Use it as a paperweight,” August said.  
  
He flipped the book open. The scrap of paper fluttered out. August frowned and picked it up, then turned it over. Steve leaned over so that he could see. “What’s that about?” he said. The current date was printed on the page, along with a time and a radio call number. “Hey, didn’t that woman stick that in the book?”  
  
August studied the paper with his brow furrowed. “I know what this is about,” he said slowly.  
  
“Really? What is it?”  
  
August didn’t respond. He rolled it up and tapped it against his open palm. Suddenly he grabbed the book and headed inside. “Come on,” he said over his shoulder. “There’s something I’ve gotta tell you.” Steve looked at him strangely, then followed him inside, closing the door behind him.


	20. Chapter 20

Tom unlocked the door and swung it open. The inside of the food shack was empty, with cracks of light filtering through the boards on the windows. The previous day, they had hauled out the old furniture and cleaned out the trash and cobwebs. Dust motes swirled in the light. Kristan stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “You want to start hauling the stuff inside?” she said.  
  
They carried tables and a set of shelves into the building, then unpacked boxes of supplies: folded clothes, a few books, a ray gun charger, empty jugs, a box of soap that Steve had made at the house. The air was hot and dry. Kristan made them stop several times to rest and drink the water she’d brought. They worked until the first rays of evening light cast over the mountains. While Tom locked up the store, Kristan radioed the war vets, who had agreed to camp out around the store for the night. She pocketed the transmitter and leaned against the wall, the breeze playing with her hair.  
  
“Man, I’m beat,” she said. “You ready to hit the road?”  
  
“We should have left an hour earlier,” Tom said, looking up at the darkening sky.  
  
“We’ll be fine,” Kristan said. “Do you have the keys?”  
  
He was checking his pockets when an engine murmured in the distance. They both snapped to attention. Tom grabbed the keys and hurried to the car, but a pair of headlights had already appeared on the horizon. A white car cruised down the highway and came to a stop in front of the store. The windows were tinted. A cold shiver of dread washed over him when the doors cracked open.  
  
A Draculoid stepped out, followed by a man in a grey suit. The man looked vaguely familiar to Tom, but he couldn’t place it. “Good evening,” the man said. His voice was hard and dry as a block of concrete. “Step away from the car. There’s been reports of a criminal spotted in the area.”  
  
“What’s going on?” Kristan said.  
  
The Drac stepped forward, fishing a digital tablet out of his pocket. “What do you know about a guy named—Christ, I never know how to pronounce this— _Vih-sev-o-lod Illyick Vas-ih-leev_?” He held up the tablet. The screen showed a picture of Sev, with _WANTED_ written in large black letters.  
  
Kristan went pale, but she shook her head. “Never heard of him,” she said.  
  
The Drac groaned and rolled his eyes. “All right, look,” he said. “We’ve gotten intel that you two were sighted with him at the black market. So don’t give me this _Never heard of him_ crap. Now what’s going on? What’s your connection to this kid?”  
  
“What’s going on?” Kristan said again. “What happened?”  
  
“Well, the little bastard stole about a hundred carbons’ worth of supplies before he bailed,” the Drac said. “We think he was hiding outside the Zones for a couple of weeks. How long have you known him?”  
  
“We just met him a week ago,” Tom said.  
  
“Where did you meet him?”  
  
“He showed up at our house, looking for treatment for the burns on his wrist,” Tom said. “I offered to help him get treatment in exchange for information about what lies outside the Zones. After we finished the deal, he left. We haven’t heard from him since.”  
  
“Did he happen to tell you where he was going?”  
  
“No, he didn’t.”  
  
“You realize that you’ve got a bit of history with the city,” the Drac said. “Especially her. We’re finding it a little hard to believe that this criminal just happened to show up at your house.”  
  
“Sir, we’re not harboring criminals,” Tom said. “We’d never met this man before. We’re not friends. He just showed up one night, trying to steal the aloe vera plant off our back porch.”  
  
“Yeah?” the Drac said. “Well, maybe you’ve heard of this guy.”  
  
He punched a few buttons on the tablet, then held it up. Kristan drew in a breath. August’s face was pictured on the screen.  
  
“Yup,” the Drac said. “We know he’s been hanging out with your friend the DJ lately. And I don’t know if you’re aware, but this kid’s been involved in some shady business lately.”  
  
“We don’t know him,” Tom said. “We barely see him.”  
  
“Well, I’m pretty sure your friend knows him,” the Drac said. “You think you can tell us where they are?”  
  
“We don’t know,” Kristan said, her heart pounding. “Steve just left this morning. He didn’t tell us where they were going.”  
  
“You live with this guy, don’t you? Steve?”  
  
“Yes,” Kristan said.  
  
“And he didn’t tell you where he was going? In the past couple of days, he didn’t make any mention of it?”  
  
“No,” Kristan said. “Look, to be honest, we don’t talk that much anymore. He spends most of his time with August.”  
  
“Well, where do they usually go?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Kristan said.  
  
“Oh, come on. He never tells you anything? Where’d they go the last time they hung out?”  
  
Tom stepped forward. “All right, that’s enough,” he said. “We’re not involved in this. We don’t have to answer to you.”  
  
“Well, son, since you might know something about this criminal, you actually are obligated to tell us something,” the Drac said.  
  
“Don’t call me _son_ ,” Tom said. “I’m sure that I’m older than you.”  
  
The Drac laughed and shot his supervisor a mirthful look under his mask. The man’s expression didn’t change. He strode up to them, drawing his ray gun from inside his coat. He didn’t raise it, but held it at his side.  
  
“We have reason to believe that you’re harboring a criminal,” he said. “Refusal to answer is grounds for arrest and questioning.”  
  
Kristan raised her hands. “We’re not harboring criminals,” she said. “Okay? We barely know this guy.”  
  
“No, but you sure as hell know his friend,” the Drac said.  
  
“We don’t know what’s going on,” she said. “Like I said, I barely even talk to Steve. And whatever’s going on, he’s probably not involved with it. Steve doesn’t get involved in this shit. He keeps to himself.”  
  
“Where is Steve now?” the man said.  
  
Her eyes widened. “I told you,” she said. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Are you aware that refusal to give information is grounds for—”  
  
“I know! I know! But we don’t know what’s going on! I swear!”  
  
“What are you doing hanging around this empty building before nightfall?” the Drac said suddenly.  
  
“I’m opening a store,” Tom said quickly. “I can unlock the door and show you what’s inside—”  
  
“No, that won’t be necessary,” the Drac said.  
  
As he spoke, a pair of headlights appeared on the top of a hill in the distance. The Drac’s head shot up. A pick-up truck coasted down the hill, followed by two cars. Their headlights cast over the road. Kristan couldn’t help but smile. _Thank God,_ Tom thought, relief washing over the tension.  
  
“Oh, great,” the Drac said. “Who the hell is this?”  
  
“We called the war vets earlier,” Kristan said. “They’re here to guard the store.”  
  
The Drac glanced at his supervisor, who eyed the truck for a moment before shaking his head. The Drac sighed and adjusted his jacket.  
  
“Well, we might not be able to take you in,” he said. “But you should know that this building has just been selected for demolition.”  
  
“What?” Kristan said. “No!”  
  
The Drac whipped out his ray gun and fired at the weeds that surrounded the shack. A burst of light exploded in the grasses. “No!” Kristan shouted. He fired at the weeds until they caught spark. A fire started to crackle around the foundation. His supervisor fired at the roof until a fire burst to life. Kristan shouted and tried to throw sand over the flames, but the fire was already crawling up the walls.   
  
“Tom!” she shouted. “Get the blanket!”  
  
Tom snapped out of his reverie. He grabbed a blanket from the trunk of the car and whipped it at the fire, trying to smother it, but the flames climbed higher. The Drac and his supervisor darted to their car. As soon as they were gone, the veterans pulled up to the shack. They jumped out of their cars, shouts filling the air. They stomped out burning grasses and tossed bucketfuls of sand onto the flames. But the fire swarmed over the walls, the paint peeling and the wood blackening. Sweat dripped down Tom’s face. Waves of heat rolled off the flames.  
  
Suddenly a pair of hands grabbed Tom and pulled him away from the shack. “Stop!” a man shouted as he struggled. “Stop! It’s too far gone! You can’t save it!”  
  
Tom wrenched away from his grip. He watched desperately as the fire engulfed the building. The veterans cleared the brush and grasses away from the shack, then darted away from the flames. The fire roared and crackled like a living creature swallowing the shack. Sparks flew into the air. The building was silhouetted in the flames like a black skeleton. Tom’s entire body felt numb, as if his veins had been drained of blood.  
  
A man with a scraggly grey beard clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “We’re getting you out of here.” When he didn’t move, the man pulled him away from the building. “Come on, kid,” he said again. “You need to get out of here in case they come back. We’ll have somebody drive your car to the camp.”   
  
Tom’s legs shook beneath him. He staggered over to his car and grabbed his suitcase from the trunk, then followed the man to his pick-up truck. He watched Kristan get into one of the cars before climbing into the truck. The man jumped into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. Beads and keychains jiggled on the rearview mirror when he started the engine.  
  
“Jesus H. Christ,” the man said, strapping on his seatbelt. “Yeah, we better get you the hell out of here before they come back. Those Dracs can be nasty sons of bitches sometimes.” He pulled out onto the highway. “You okay over there? Did they threaten you? Physically, I mean?”  
  
“They threatened to arrest us,” Tom said weakly, then cleared his throat. His body felt weak and trembly as he gripped the suitcase.  
  
“What the hell happened, anyway? Was that building city property or something?”  
  
Tom told him the story. The man shook his head. “Jesus,” he said. “What a disgusting bunch of individuals. In the city, they wouldn’t condone that shit.”  
  
“Are you sure about that?” Tom said.  
  
“Oh, I’m sure,” he said. “You’ve got eyes watching you in the city. Not out here. Here, you can do whatever you want.”  
  
He took a drink of soda, then offered the cup to Tom, who shook his head. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” the man said. “My name’s Tim Wells.”  
  
“Tom Curschmann,” Tom said, shaking his hand. His palm was rough and leathery.  
  
“Tom, huh? I think Steve’s mentioned you. You’re that salesman?”  
  
“Yes, I am,” he said.  
  
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “Man, that’s a hard road to go down, isn’t it? In a place like this, you run into a lot of people desperate for supplies.”  
  
“Every day,” Tom said. “And some of them aren’t afraid to show it, either.”  
  
“Yeah, Steve worries about you a whole bunch,” Tim said. “Don’t know if he’s ever told you this, but he’s always saying to me, _I’m afraid he’s going to be found one day with his throat slashed or something._ ” He took another drink. “People can be cruel to supply runners. I once knew a guy who had two of his fingers cut off by this traveling gang because he wouldn’t sell to them.”  
  
“I’ve heard stories like that,” Tom said. “In fact, I’ve been the subject of stories like that.” He laughed harshly. “A man cracked one of my ribs once because I raised the price on matches. I’ve been told that I got off easy. Suppliers have been killed for less.”  
  
“Everybody out here’s been attacked for something stupid, at one point or another,” Tim said. “I don’t know who started the rumor that it’s all peace and love in the desert, but it’s bullshit. Some people let their basest instincts come out.”  
  
“They do,” Tom said. He wiped his sweaty face with a bandana. Every time he closed his eyes, the crackling orange fire glowed vividly in his head.  
  
Half an hour later, they reached the veteran’s camp. The veterans were scattered around, checking their radios, making calls, cooking dinner over their campfires. Tom and Kristan were quickly ushered into an empty tent. Tom sat in a folding chair next to a bedside table, clutching his suitcase. Kristan sat down on the edge of the cot. A kerosene lamp glowed on the table, casting a light over the furniture: chairs, a duffel bag, a glass jar, an old-fashioned clock.  
  
“You okay, Tom?” Kristan said quietly. He nodded with his eyes lowered.  
  
The front flaps suddenly burst open and Tim stepped inside. “We’ve contacted Steve,” he said. He dragged a chair over and sat down. “He’s on his way with August. We’re sending a couple of guys to the house to grab what you need. Anything in particular you want them to get, besides the necessities?”  
  
“Can you tell them to get the ham radio?” Kristan said.  
  
“Will do,” Tim said. “Tom, your car’s parked with the rest of the vehicles. You can stay here as long as you want, but I recommend heading out as soon as possible.”  
  
“Wait,” Kristan said. “Where are we going?”  
  
“There’s a town up north called Sunburst. I recommend going there. We’ll get you a map so you know where to go.”  
  
“Wait, hang on,” Kristan said. “Who decided that we’re leaving town?”  
  
“The Dracs did,” Tim said. “I don’t think they’re after you as much, but I wouldn’t go back to that house. I’m sure they’re watching the place. And there’s no way that Steve and his friend can go back.”  
  
“Do you think they’re going to follow us?” Tom said.  
  
“Like I said, I don’t think you’re in danger as much,” Tim said. “It’s Steve and August that we need to watch out for. I don’t know what we’re going to do about them.”  
  
“We can’t just up and leave, Tim,” Kristan said. “I mean—Jesus, everything we know is here. I can’t just leave my radio station. And most of Tom’s connections are here. We’ve live here for three years, we can’t just pack up and leave because a couple of Dracs threatened us.”  
  
“It’s just going to get worse, Kristan,” Tim said, shaking his head. “They’re going to want to get their hands on August. And you know that they’re thinking that Steve is involved in this, too, even if he’s not.”  
  
“Then maybe we should hand August over,” she muttered.  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“Nothing,” she said. She pushed her hair back over her shoulders, her eyes wet with tears. Tom passed her a clean bandana from his suitcase. “Thank you,” she said. She dabbed at her eyes. “I just—I don’t know, Tim. I don’t know if I can start over again.”  
  
“Well, at least it’s nothing new to you,” Tim said. “You’ve done it—what, three or four times before?”  
  
She nodded. Suddenly a car door slammed outside. Tim looked up. “Sounds like Steve’s here,” he said. “Excuse me a minute.”  
  
He stood up and headed outside. The smell of campfire smoke wafted into the tent. A few minutes later, Steve pushed back the flaps and wheeled inside. Tom looked up from his suitcase, where he had been silently counting the carbons that he’d tucked away.  
  
“Where’s August?” Kristan said.   
  
“He’s talking to Tim,” Steve said. “I just heard what happened like half an hour ago. Jesus Christ, are you guys okay?”  
  
“We’re fine,” Kristan said. “The guys showed up at just the right time.”  
  
“How’d those Dracs even know you were there?”  
  
“We stopped at a gas station on the way there,” she said. “The woman at the counter asked me where we’re going. I didn’t even think about it.”  
  
“Jesus,” Steve said, rubbing a hand across his face. “Did Tim tell you that he thinks we should skip town?”  
  
“Yeah, he did,” she said. “He said he’s sending somebody to pick up our stuff from the house.”  
  
“I know,” Steve said. “Are you guys going to be okay? I mean, do you think you can handle all this?”  
  
Kristan and Tom exchanged glances. “To be honest, I’m more worried about you,” she said to Steve.  
  
Steve took a breath and clenched his teeth, as if he were about to say something uncomfortable. He looked away.  
  
“What?” Kristan said.  
  
“That’s what I need to talk about,” Steve said. He took a deep breath. “August and I aren’t going with you.”  
  
“What?” Kristan said. “You can’t stay here, Steve. Those Dracs are looking for you.”  
  
“I didn’t say I was staying here,” he said.  
  
“Then where the hell are you going?”  
  
“I don’t want to say too much,” he said. “But look—tonight, August and I found this ham radio network that really opened my eyes to a lot of shit. I mean, I knew Dracs are assholes, but—” He laughed humorlessly. “There’s a lot going on that I didn’t know about it. August and I talked about it for a while, and believe me, this kid’s heard some stories. To be honest with you, Cherri wasn’t exactly wrong about the Dracs.”  
  
“Don’t bring Cherri into this,” Tom said.  
  
Steve looked up at him. “I’m just saying,” he said. “I’m not saying what the Soldiers for Peace do is right, but there’s some fucked-up shit going on in the Zones. I mean, what just happened to you two is proof of that.”  
  
“So what are you saying?” Kristan said. “You’re going to run off with August and go underground?”  
  
“No, no. It’s not like that. We’re just…we just want to get the word out there. That’s all I’m going to say.”  
  
“Get the word out to who?”  
  
Steve shook his head. “I don’t want to say too much,” he said.  
  
“Then where are you going?”  
  
“I told you, Kristan. I can’t say much about this.”  
  
“Well, are we going to hear from you?” Kristan said, her voice rising.  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “Of course. I just don’t want to say too much about what we’re doing.”  
  
“All right,” Kristan said. She threw a hand in the air and dropped it. “So we just lost our house, Tom’s store burned to the ground, and now you’re telling us that you’re going to run off with August to go play soldier.”  
  
“Hey,” Steve said, his voice hardening. “I’m not playing soldier. And frankly, I don’t appreciate you wording it like that.”  
  
“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” she said. “You’re running off to fight some imagined rebellion—”  
  
“Imagined?” Steve said. “Kristan, you just saw a couple of Dracs burn his store down! We both watched while Tom nearly bled to death! How can you say all this shit is imaginary?”  
  
“I know the Dracs are horrible!” she said. “But what the hell are you going to do? Sit around with a sixteen-year-old and screw around on the airwaves all day?”  
  
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Steve said. “Kristan, any other time, you’re all about fighting the city. But as soon as August gets involved, suddenly you’ve got a problem with it.”  
  
“This isn’t about August!” Kristan said. “This is about you running off to fight some stupid battle, like any of us are going to make a difference—”  
  
“Oh, so you’d rather do nothing. I see. So the Dracs are going to keep shooting people and burning down their buildings, and Tom can keep ODing on blood pressure pills because he’s so desperate to get away from them.”  
  
“Steve,” Tom said tensely. “Stop bringing me into this.”  
  
“All right,” Steve said, raising a hand. “I’m sorry. But look. Both of you need to realize that I wasn’t going to stay cooped up in that house forever.”  
  
“Well, I’m sorry that living with us was such a miserable experience,” Kristan said.  
  
“That’s not what I said,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “Jesus, Kristan.”  
  
“Ever since you met August, you’ve changed,” she said. “Now you don’t want anything to do with us.”  
  
“Well, maybe there’s a reason for that,” he said.  
  
Kristan fell silent. Anger flashed across her face. Then her whole body seemed to deflate. “Just get out, Steve,” she said. “If you’re going to leave, then just go.”  
  
“No, no, wait,” Steve said. “I want to know what Tom’s thinking, since he’s been so silent over there. Tom, what do you think about all this?”  
  
Tom closed his suitcase. “I think you’re acting like a child,” he said.  
  
Steve laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said. “You’ve always got each other’s backs, huh?”  
  
“Excuse me?” Tom said.  
  
“You know what I’m talking about. You always jumped to each other’s defense, it’s like the two of you against me.”  
  
“Steve, what the hell are you talking about?” Kristan said. “Tom and I have argued plenty of times.”  
  
“I know, but when it comes right down to it, you’d rather swallow poison than defend me,” he said. “Honestly, Kristan—if you weren’t gay, I’d think you two were fucking around behind my back.”  
  
“Jesus Christ, Steve,” Tom said. “Is this why you’re leaving? You think Kristan and I are fucking around?”  
  
“No, it’s not that,” Steve said wearily. “Look, I don’t think you realize how much this place has been suffocating me. Kristan—I know you meant well, but half the time you treated me like a charity case.”  
  
“That’s not true!” she said.  
  
“Yeah, it is,” he said. “I don’t think you did it on purpose. But you never really wanted me to be independent. Since I started hanging out with August, I’ve probably been out of the house more in the past month than I have in a year.”  
  
“That’s because he drives you everywhere—” she began, but Steve raised a hand.  
  
“And look, Tom,” he said. “I love you, man, but—you act like a fucking android. You act like you don’t have feelings, which I know is bullshit, because I’ve known you for years and I _know_ you have feelings. But you shut yourself off from everybody, like you think it’ll keep people from hurting you.”  
  
“Don’t try to analyze me,” Tom said.  
  
“Am I wrong?” he said. “You’ve pushed everyone away except for Cherri. And hell, even with him, you still talked to him like you’re some kind of worker drone.”  
  
“That’s because I kept a professional distance from him, Steve,” Tom said. “He was fifteen years old. I wasn’t sleeping over at his house every night or driving him all around the Zones—”  
  
Steve smiled humorlessly and raised a hand. “All right,” he said. “All right.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but a silence fell over the tent. Steve looked away, picking at his teeth with a thumbnail.  
  
“So that’s it?” Kristan said. “You’re just going to leave?”  
  
Steve sighed heavily. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess that’s it.”  
  
“Then go. Just get out of here.”  
  
Steve glanced over at Tom, who looked at him coldly. He cast a final look around the tent. Then he turned and wheeled outside. As soon as he was gone, Kristan dropped her head and covered her eyes. Tom rubbed a hand across his face. The smell of smoke clung to his sleeve.  
  
“I’m going to go sit outside for a while,” Kristan said finally. “You want anything?”  
  
Tom shook his head. Kristan stood up and headed out to the campfire, where a few veterans sat in lawn chairs. She sank into one of the empty chairs and gazed into the heart of the fire. The burning shack was still imprinted in her mind. She watched the fire until she started to feel dazed, her body going numb. The entire world seemed to shrink to the white-hot center of the fire. The wood glazed over with ash, then blackened and crumbled, sparks flying in the air.  
  
After an indeterminable amount of time, the men started to head back to their tents. One of the veterans snuffed out the fire. Kristan walked back to their tent and peered inside. The lantern had been extinguished. Tom was sitting in the chair in the dark. The tip of his cigarette glowed bright orange.  
  
“Hey,” Kristan said quietly.  
  
He raised a hand in greeting, then took a drag from the cigarette. At first she thought he was smoking tobacco. But when she caught a whiff of the familiar smell, she looked at him in surprise.  
  
“Oh, no way,” she said. “You’re smoking weed?”  
  
Tom nodded, exhaling smoke into the air. “One of the men offered it to me,” he said.  
  
“I had no idea you smoked,” she said.  
  
“I don’t,” he said.  
  
He took another drag, then slowly exhaled the smoke, pushing his sweaty hair back. Kristan sat down on the cot and lit the lantern. The flickering light pulsed against the tent walls like a heartbeat.  
  
“You might want to take that outside,” she said.  
  
“Does the smell bother you?” Tom said.  
  
“No, but I thought it bothered you,” she said. “And the tent’s going to smell like weed all night.”  
  
He nodded, but didn’t move. Kristan stood up and pushed the tent flaps open to let some of the smoke out. A lone silhouetted figure still walked around the camp. Most of the tents were sealed shut, a few glowing from within from the lantern light.  
  
“I don’t know what to do tomorrow,” Kristan said. “Christ, I don’t know what to do about anything. I just want to go to sleep and wake up with everything back to normal.”  
  
She lay back on the cot and threw her arm over her face. After a while, she reached out her hand for the joint. Tom handed it to her. She took a drag and breathed smoke into the air.  
  
“What do you think?” she said wearily. “Do you want to try for Sunburst?”  
  
Tom nodded. “I have a few contacts there,” he said. “It’s better than starting over.”  
  
She flashed him the thumbs-up. “All right,” she said. “Then we’re headed for Sunburst.”  
  
Kristan handed him the joint, then gazed up at the ceiling of the tent. The walls wavered in the wind. An owl hooted outside. She closed his eyes and waited for Tom to go to bed, for the sound of his breathing to even out, but it never came.


	21. Chapter 21

**Part Two**  
  
**2006  
  
** “This is Dr. Death Defying, broadcasting to you live from our little hut of static in this desert Graceland,” Dr. Death said into the microphone. “It’s a hot, sunny day full of noise pollen and whitesuits. Kick up the gears and throw up some sparks for The Manicures, Josie and the Firebombs, and a couple of classics from Saint Marybeth...”  
  
_Orange in Charge,_ Show Pony mouthed, kneeling beside the desk. When Dr. Death ignored him, he patted the desk. “D,” he whispered loudly. “Play Orange in Charge.” Dr. Death swatted at him playfully. Pony snatched the cassette tape out of his hands. After a burst of silent arguing and gesturing, Dr. Death sighed and reached for a bright yellow tape.  
  
“But first, here’s a request from our very own Ponyboy,” Dr. Death said. “Orange in Charge, a group I’ve been listening to since I first crawled out of the primordial stew. Give it a spin and stay tuned to your very own WKIL on this shiny Sunday morning.”  
  
He switched off his microphone and hit the _PLAY_ button. Pony strapped on the headphones and bobbed his head, mouthing the lyrics. Dr. Death patted his arm. “All right, cut it short,” he said. “You’ve got deliveries to make today.”  
  
“I love OIC!” Pony said. “I’d sell my soul for OIC.”  
  
“I’ll play another one when you’re on the road,” he said. “Go on. Get going.”  
  
Pony heaved a sigh, then kissed Dr. Death on the cheek and headed out. Dr. Death stacked the upcoming tapes in front of the cassette player, then wheeled into the kitchen. As he shook dry rice into a pot, birds chirped outside the window. Wind chimes tinkled on the porch. A great stretch of empty desert surrounded the house, as if he and Pony were the only people on earth.  
  
He was about to switch on the hot plate when his transmitter buzzed. He grabbed it and pulled out the antenna. “Hello?” he said.  
  
“It’s Newsie,” NewsAGoGo said. “Are you watching the security footage?”  
  
“Nope,” Dr. Death said. “I just started breakfast.”  
  
“Go turn it on. You need to see this.”  
  
He headed back to the radio room and switched on the dusty TV console. A black-and-white screen flickered to life. The screen was split into four different sections, each showing a different room of the house. Dr. Death reached for the remote. “All right, what am I looking at?” he said.  
  
“What are you on now?”  
  
“I’m on our station. Mine and Pony’s.”  
  
“Turn it to Station Three.”  
  
He flipped through the channels until he reached the footage of Station Three. Dr. Death narrowed his eyes. At first, the house seemed to be empty. Then something stirred in the corner of one of the screens, like a spider just out of sight. A moment later, a figure walked past the doorway.  
  
“Shit,” Dr. Death said.  
  
“You saw him?” she said.  
  
“Yup. I see him. Who the hell is that?”  
  
“Nobody we know,” she said. “I’ve been watching him for about ten minutes. Is Pony still there?”  
  
“Nope. Just left.”  
  
She sighed. “Do you mind if I pick you up?” she said. “I mean, are you in the middle of a show?”  
  
“I’ll just throw a tape on,” Dr. Death said. “They won’t miss me.”  
  
“All right. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”  
  
Five minutes later, Newsie pulled up in a dusty green Ford truck with a cracked windshield. A red-and-gold good luck amulet hung from the rearview mirror. Dust billowed around the tires as they drove through the desert. A bug smacked against the windshield like a stray bullet, leaving a sticky glob.  
  
“You’ve got your gun, right?” Newsie said.  
  
Dr. Death slipped out his ray gun from inside his vest. “Yup,” he said. “Always do.”  
  
Newsie nodded. The truck jiggled as they drove over a rocky patch. She laid her hand on the hunting rifle that rested between the front seats.  
  
When they pulled up to the house, a light blue car was parked in front of the entrance. Rust crawled along the edges of the vehicle. Newsie cupped her hands around a window and peered inside. “I don’t see anything,” she said. “Looks clean.”  
  
“You don’t think it’s a city vehicle, do you?” Dr. Death said.  
  
“If it is, it’s pretty beat-up,” Newsie said. “The city can probably afford better than this.”  
  
The inside of the house was cast in shadow. Stains and rot had burrowed into the furniture. Wallpaper hung from the walls in long strips. They crept through the living room, the rifle hanging loosely from Newsie’s hand. Something stirred in the kitchen. Their heads shot up. Newsie stepped carefully on the carpet, Dr. Death wheeling as quietly as he could, until the kitchen doorway was in view. Newsie held her breath and peered through the doorway.  
  
A man was kneeling on the floor, rifling through the kitchen cabinets. A heavy coat was draped over his frame. He wore black gloves and an old military gas mask that gave him an insectlike look. Newsie sucked in her breath, then lifted the rifle.  
  
“Stop!” she said. “Get up. Stand up.”  
  
The man jumped to his feet with his hands raised. Newsie beckoned with the rifle. “Step away from the counter,” she said. As the man backed away, his gait struck Dr. Death as familiar. The man glanced over at him, then stopped, as if he’d recognized him.  
  
“Take off your mask,” Newsie said.  
  
The man took off the gas mask. Dr. Death’s breath caught in his throat. “Shit,” he said. “Put the gun down, Newsie. I know him.”  
  
“You know him?” she said in surprise.  
  
“Yeah,” Dr. Death said. “He’s an old friend of mine. You’ve probably heard of him. People call him Tommy Chow Mein.”  
  
“Oh!” Newsie said, lowering the rifle. “Oh, right. I’ve heard that name. I’m sorry. I thought you were just another intruder.”  
  
Tom laughed shortly. “I suppose I am,” he said. “I’m sorry. I was told that this place was abandoned.”  
  
“It is, but we’re hanging onto it for now,” Dr. Death said. “Just in case—” He paused. “Just in case someone else decides to move in.”  
  
Tom nodded and looked around the room. “Is August here?” he said.  
  
“August?” Dr. Death said. “Oh, right! Pony. Yeah, he’s still here. He’s just out delivering the mail right now, but he’ll be back.”  
  
“You’re calling him Pony?” Tom said.  
  
“That’s his code name. Show Pony. He chose it.”  
  
“I’m Newsie, by the way,” she said after a pause. “D’s friend. We go way back.”  
  
“Do you?” Tom said. He moved to shake her hand, then stopped when he saw the rifle. Newsie laughed.  
  
“It’s not loaded,” she said, tucking it under her arm. “I can’t afford real bullets.” She grabbed his hand and shook it.  
  
“You want to come back to the house?” Dr. Death said. “Come on. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”  
  
After a brief argument, Tom agreed to follow them back to the house. Dr. Death led them into the kitchen, where the pot of rice still sat on the counter. He filled the pot with water from a jug under the counter. “Have you been eating, Tom?” he said.  
  
“When possible,” Tom said.  
  
Dr. Death laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s what it looks like. What about you, Newsie? Have you eaten today?”  
  
“I just had a couple of cubes for breakfast,” she said.  
  
“All right. Let’s throw some rice on the grill.” He placed the pot of rice on the hot plate and switched it on. The hot plate was connected to a slim white device with the Better Living logo printed on the side. A green light blinked. “By the way, Tom, what was up with that gas mask?”  
  
“It protects against asbestos,” Tom said.  
  
“Asbestos?” Dr. Death said. “Well, you won’t find that here. We checked these houses for everything.”  
  
Dr. Death took down a stack of plates from the cabinet. He stirred the rice and tapped the spoon against the edge of the pot the way Kristan had. He peered into the jug of water, then poured water into three glasses.  
  
“Need some help over there?” Newsie said.  
  
“I’ve got it,” Dr. Death said. “So are you still running supplies, Tom?”  
  
“Yes, I am,” he said.  
  
“Times must be tough, if you’re scavenging again.”  
  
“Quite,” Tom said.  
  
Tom looked away, cracking his knuckles. Dr. Death watched him for a moment. His face was scruffier and his hair was longer and stringier than he remembered. Dr. Death dished out the rice, then wheeled over to the table, where Tom was pulling off his gloves.  
  
“Thank you,” Tom said.  
  
“You are welcome,” Dr. Death said, then looked up. “Shit. I wonder if that tape’s run out yet.” He dropped his fork. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.” He hurried off to the radio room.  
  
Newsie turned her rice over with her fork, then started to eat. “Like I said, D and I go way back,” she said. “I met him and Kristan at the old veteran’s camp years ago.”  
  
“Did you really?” Tom said.  
  
“I couldn’t believe it when I started hearing his voice on the radio,” she said. “I knew he had that show with Kristan, but I never thought he’d go solo. He never seemed that interested in the radio.”  
  
Tom nodded, but didn’t respond. Newsie had the feeling that he was holding his tongue.  
  
“All right, I just stuck the OIC tape in there and started it from the beginning,” Dr. Death said, returning to the table. “Now Pony can’t whine at me and say that I don’t play enough OIC.”  
  
“He’s definitely going to get his fill,” Newsie said.  
  
“He better,” Dr. Death said. “Tom, do you ever listen to the radio?”  
  
“Sometimes,” he said. “Usually when I have a long drive.”  
  
“I know you never listened to the radio much, but I think you’d enjoy it,” Dr. Death said. “You like Johnny Cash, don’t you? Pony and I play him pretty frequently.”  
  
Tom nodded and fidgeted with his hands, looking like he wanted to speak. Finally, he took a breath. “Steve, what are you doing here?” he said.  
  
Dr. Death lowered his glass. “Excuse me?” he said.  
  
“I know you didn’t come out here just to have a radio show,” he said. “What are you doing?”  
  
Dr. Death sighed and set down the glass. “I don’t want to get too much into it,” he said. “It’s complicated.”  
  
“Are you in danger?” Tom said. “Are you infiltrating the city?”  
  
“No, no,” Dr. Death said. “It’s not like that. We’re just—we’re getting our hands on some sensitive information.”  
  
“From where? Are you hacking into city devices?”  
  
“Tom, I said I’m not getting into this.”  
  
“Are you putting your lives at risk?”  
  
“No,” he said. “Jesus, Tom. Look, I don’t want you to worry about this.”  
  
“I’m finding it hard to trust that you know what you’re doing,” he said.  
  
“Well, I’ve survived the past couple of years without the city breaking down my door,” Dr. Death said. “And frankly, Tom, I don’t see how this concerns you.”  
  
Tom laughed harshly. “Whatever’s going on, I don’t want any part of this,” he said. He stood up to leave, but Dr. Death stopped him.  
  
“Wait,” he said. “Before you go, take the rest of the rice.” Tom shook his head, but Dr. Death said “No. Take it. I can tell you haven’t been eating much.”  
  
Newsie grabbed a jar from one of the shelves and poured the rest of the rice inside. “Thank you,” Tom said when she handed it to him.  
  
“You’re welcome,” Newsie said.  
  
“Just take care of yourself,” Dr. Death said. “I know that about half the area would be fucked without you.”  
  
Tom raised his eyebrows skeptically. He headed out into the sunlight, closing the door behind him. Newsie watched the door until the car engine rumbled outside. She toyed with her fork, twirling the tines on the plate.  
  
“Well, he asked a lot of questions, didn’t he?” Newsie said.  
  
“He just has to know what’s going on,” Dr. Death said. “It’s how he is.”  
  
Newsie took a drink of water. “Are you sure he didn’t have any other reasons for asking?” she said.  
  
“I’m sure,” Dr. Death said. He started to say more, but was cut off by the sound of Pony’s truck pulling up outside. Pony burst inside a moment later, carrying the empty mail bag. His face was red and frazzled.  
  
“Well, the mail today was a shitfest,” he said, then hurried off without explanation. Newsie smiled over her glass. Dr. Death rolled his eyes, then turned and headed after him.  
  
\---  
  
A few weeks later, Tom and Kristan sat in a motel room. A dismantled ray gun was arranged on the desk in front of Kristan, laid out on a white cloth. She wiped dust and grime off one of the pieces. Tom sat at the table with maps and papers spread out in front of him. The orange rays of evening sunlight cast through the glass doors. Thunder murmured in the distance.  
  
“What do you think?” Kristan said, breaking the silence. “Should we try for that market tomorrow?”  
  
“I have no idea,” Tom said. “I can’t decide if it’s worth the gas money.”  
  
“Well, if you’re not sure, we can always shoot for next week,” she said. “It looks like it’s not going anywhere.”  
  
Tom nodded. He dropped the map he was holding and rubbed a hand across his face. The clock ticked above the dresser. A rectangle of unfaded wallpaper stood next to the clock, marking the place where a painting had been stolen.  
  
“Do you think that bookseller has anything?” Kristan said.  
  
“I don’t know, Kristan,” Tom said.  
  
“I know how-to manuals can go for a lot,” she said. “Especially the ones about gardening. Same with nature guides.”  
  
“I don’t think I could afford those even if she were selling them,” he said.  
  
Kristan pressed her lips together. She dropped the hot ray gun charger in a glass of water, then started scraping caked-on grime from one of the parts. “Maybe Steve was right about us,” she said. “Sometimes I think we are pretty dreary.”  
  
“I think it comes with adulthood,” Tom said. He stood up and started stacking the papers together, stuffing them in his suitcase. The old maps cracked and crinkled like tissue paper.  
  
“Are you done for the night?” Kristan said.  
  
“I can’t keep staring at this,” he said. “I’m hoping it will make sense to me in the morning.”  
  
“Sometimes you just need to clear your head,” she said. “Nothing wrong with that.”  
  
He locked the suitcase and slipped it under the bed, then sat down and pulled off his shoes. Thunder rumbled again, closer this time. The sky darkened outside as if night were rapidly falling. He was loosening his tie when his transmitter buzzed. He grabbed it from the bedside table.  
  
“Hello?” he said.  
  
“ _Hey, Tom, it’s me_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _Are you free right now?_ ”  
  
“How did you get my number?” Tom said.  
  
“ _I called around until I found someone that knew you_ ,” Steve said. “ _Are you free?_ ”  
  
“I just returned from a delivery an hour ago,” he said.  
  
“ _What does that mean? Are you free?_ ”  
  
“What do you want, Steve?”  
  
“ _All right, I know this is last minute, but Newsie tripped going into the cellar_ ,” Steve said. “ _She twisted her ankle pretty bad, and we’re all out of gauze. The one time we don’t have it, that’s when we need it._ ”  
  
Tom turned away from the transmitter and sighed through his teeth. “Are you asking me to make a delivery?” he said.  
  
“ _Like I said, I know this is last minute, but it’s not like we can just get up and drive to town. Newsie’s got a bunch of stuff that she has to monitor._ ”  
  
“Why are you calling me?” he said. “Call a medic!”  
  
“ _We can’t afford that right now_ ,” he said. “ _Look, Pony said he can tape it up. We just need the gauze_.”  
  
“Do you think that I have medical supplies just lying around?”  
  
“ _No, but I know that you’ve got connections. Probably more than anybody else out here. We’ll pay you whatever you need, Tom. Just help us out here_.”  
  
Tom bowed his head and ran a hand through his hair. “Five carbons,” he said.  
  
“ _All right, we can manage that_ ,” Steve said after a moment. “ _That’s still less than the medic wanted_.”  
  
“I’ll be there in half an hour.”  
  
He switched off the transmitter, then reached for his shoes. “So you’re going over there?” Kristan said.  
  
“I don’t have a choice,” he said. “I need the money.”  
  
“You want me to go with you?”  
  
He glanced at the ray gun parts scattered on the desk. “When does that have to be finished?”  
  
“By tomorrow morning,” she said.  
  
“I’ll go by myself,” he said. “There’s still two hours until sundown.”  
  
He pulled on his jacket and grabbed his suitcase, then stepped out into the parking lot. The sunlight filtered through a growing tower of clouds. He sat down in his car and locked the doors. He turned his transmitter to the right frequency.  
  
“Hello?” he said. “This is Tom. Could I speak with Mary Alice?”  
  
“ _She’s not in_ ,” said an unfamiliar voice. “ _She just left an hour ago_.”  
  
Tom closed his eyes. “Do you have any idea when she’ll be back?”  
  
“ _Probably a few hours, at least. She’s driving all the way down to Freyja Falls_.”  
  
“Is Jennifer there?”  
  
“ _Nope. She’s gone, too. They both left together_.”  
  
“And neither of them will be back any time soon.”  
  
“ _Nope. They’re gone for the night_.”  
  
He sighed and looked up at the roof of the car. “All right. Nevermind. Thank you.”  
  
The call ended. He swore to himself, then tried another frequency. He called three suppliers until he finally found a woman with medical supplies. They argued over the price of gauze until she finally settled on six carbons. He drove to a trailer nestled in a patch of overgrown weeds to pick it up. Once he was back on the road, a blanket of grey clouds loomed overhead. Lighting flashed over the mountains.  
  
“— _about a dozen people are still displaced after the brush fire_ ,” said the DJ on the radio. “ _If you know a place where they can stay for a couple of weeks, let us know. Right now they’re all crammed in one tent in Golden Valley_ …”  
  
A fine curtain of rain started to mist the windshield. He switched on the windshield wipers, but they wouldn’t move. He flicked the switch on and off. Nothing happened. _Shit,_ he thought. The pinpricks steadily increased until they became a hard, pouring rain that cast a sheet of water across the windshield. Finally, he pulled over to the side of the road. He cut the engine and rested his head against the steering wheel for a moment. The rain hammered against the car like tiny ball bearings. When he sat up, the road had dissolved into a watery blur.  
  
After a while, the dark, sagging clouds started to dissipate. The rainfall slowed to a trickle, then stopped altogether. Tom stepped outside and dried the windows with a towel. The air was humid and damp. He stuffed the towel in the glove compartment and pulled back onto the road. The radio DJs began to sign off for the night, like lights winking out. He listened for news about the weather, but heard nothing but a brief mention of gang activity several miles away. A flock of birds flew over the car, chattering wildly.  
  
Suddenly his transmitter buzzed. He grabbed it from the dashboard. “Hello?” he said.  
  
“ _Hey, it’s Dr. D_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _Are you on your way?_ ”  
  
“Yes. I’m on my way.”  
  
“ _All right. Good. I don’t know if you heard, but there’s some gang activity around the area._ ”  
  
“Yes, I heard.”  
  
“ _All right. I just wanted to make sure that you knew_.” He paused. “ _How close are you to the house?_ ”  
  
“I’m about twenty minutes away.”  
  
“ _Twenty minutes? Okay. Good. Stay safe, man_.”  
  
The call ended. As he drove down the highway, shadows lengthened across the desert. The mountains were still and quiet like the statues of ancient gods. The sun flared orange and pink across the sky, then disappeared. He increased the gas. Thin, bluish darkness settled over the desert and shrouded the trees and hills in the distance.  
  
As he drove around a hill, a flickering light in the distance caught his eye. He slowed down, expecting to see tents and vehicles scattered around a bonfire. But the area seemed to be empty. His mind raced with possibilities. If he tried a different route, he’d be on the road even longer, which was dangerous at night. But if he continued down the highway, he might run into the gang that he’d been warned about. He sped up as he approached, the fire growing larger and more misshapen.  
  
Suddenly he realized that it wasn’t a campfire at all—it was a car that had been set on fire, the flames roiling and licking along the frame like a bubbling stew. Plumes of smoke rolled off the flames. Tom’s heart started to race. He was about to hit reverse when a figure shot out in front of the car like an animal blinded by headlights.  
  
Tom slammed on the brakes. His heart pounding, he grabbed his ray gun and jumped out of the car. The figure stumbled to his feet and staggered over to the car, clutching a bloody rag to his shoulder. Sweaty hair was strewn around his face. When their eyes met, the figure’s eyes widened.  
  
“Tom,” he said hoarsely. “Oh my God.”  
  
Tom stepped back. A feeling of dread washed over him.  
  
“You’ve gotta help me, man,” Cherri said in a strained voice. “Please. I know we’ve got a history, but—this guy just came at me and my partner with a knife—”  
  
Cherri lowered the rag, revealing a bloody gash near his collarbone. He took a shaky breath. “My partner’s dead,” he said. “They killed him. These assholes, called the Blood Moons, they just attacked us out of nowhere. They busted up our radio and torched our car.”  
  
“They just attacked you out of nowhere?” Tom said.  
  
“Yeah,” Cherri said. “I mean, we have a history with them, but…”  
  
Tom stepped back, shaking his head. Cherri’s eyes were wet with tears.  
  
“Tom,” he said. “Please. If I don’t get a ride to the medic’s, I’m going to die.”  
  
“Why should I help you?” Tom said. “Why should I take you to the medic’s, only to have you live to kill again?”  
  
“Tom, please,” Cherri said. He grabbed his arm, but Tom pulled away. Cherri’s fingers left faint streaks of blood on his sleeve. “I’m not ready to die out here,” he said. “I can’t do this. I don’t get scared much, but I’m terrified of this shit. I’m more terrified than I’ve ever been in my life.”  
  
“Did you ever think about your victims?” Tom said. “Did you ever think that the people you killed weren’t ready to die?”  
  
“I don’t know, Tom, I don’t know. Just do something, please! Call somebody, call a medic, I don’t care, just Jesus, man, help me out here!”  
  
Tom shut his eyes and turned away. Everything in his head screamed at him to drive away and leave Cherri on the side of the road. But the desperation in Cherri’s voice had him ensnared. He gripped the edge of the car door, hating himself.  
  
“Oh my God,” Cherri said. “Just help me, Tom. Please.”  
  
The rag was almost entirely soaked with blood. Cherri’s face was sickly white. He reached forward and grabbed Tom’s arm again, gripping him as if he were the Grim Reaper about to drag him away.  
  
Tom pulled free of his grip. “Just get in,” he muttered, then covered his face with his hand.  
  
“Oh, thank you,” Cherri said in a rush. “Thank you so much.”  
  
“Be quiet. Just get in. Don’t speak.”  
  
Cherri climbed into the car and pulled out the seatbelt with trembling hands. Tom slammed the door and turned the key in the ignition. The engine rattled, but wouldn’t start. He turned the key again. The engine grinded and rattled but wouldn’t turn over. He swore and smacked the underside of the dashboard.  
  
“Here, let me—” Cherri said. He reached for the keys, but Tom swatted his hand away. After a few more tries, the engine finally roared to life. The headlights swept across the road as he pulled out onto the highway.  
  
“Sometimes you just need to click it back and forth,” Cherri said quietly.  
  
Tom didn’t respond. Cherri winced as he turned the rag over and pressed it against the wound. Dried blood was crusted under his fingernails.  
  
“Tom,” Cherri said. “I know I said this, but—thank you so much for doing this, man.”  
  
“Cherri, be quiet,” Tom said.  
  
“Everyone else has turned their backs on me,” he said in a strained voice. “I tried to reach out to Steve and Kristan, but they wouldn’t talk to me. August wouldn’t even acknowledge me.”  
  
“I imagine there’s a reason for that,” Tom said coldly.  
  
“But I don’t get it, man,” Cherri said. “What are Steve and August doing? They’re off fighting the city. They’ve even got code names like we do. I mean, what’s the difference? What are they doing that’s so different from us?”  
  
“The difference, Cherri, is that they’re not killing Dracs every night,” Tom said.  
  
“But Steve turned his back on me,” Cherri said. “He acted like I was some kind of monster, when he’s off screwing around with August, who’s _known_ to hang out with people who tried to hack into the city’s mainframe—”  
  
“Cherri, just shut your mouth,” Tom said abruptly.  
  
“Tom—”  
  
“Just shut your mouth, for God’s sake. I don’t want to hear you speak.”  
  
Cherri fell silent. He lifted the rag and peered at the wound, then winced in pain. A dark bloodstain had spread across his shirt like a growing infection. He glanced over at Tom, then pressed the rag against the gash and slumped back in his seat. His stringy hair hung over his face. The dog tags dangled limply from his neck.  
  
“You know, I never wanted to hurt anybody,” Cherri said quietly.  
  
“Cherri,” Tom said.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just…I thought it’d be different than this.”  
  
They spent the rest of the drive in silence. Finally, Tom pulled up to a round house with a pointed roof like a mushroom. The headlights illuminated a set of stairs that led to the doorway. Cherri winced as he climbed out of the car. His movements were slow and deliberate. A light switched on inside the house.  
  
“Thank you,” Cherri said. “Seriously, man, I can’t—”  
  
Tom shook his head, cutting him off. He watched as Cherri hobbled up the stairs and knocked on the door. A woman stuck her head out. When she saw the bloody rag, she quickly ushered him inside and shut the door. Their shadows passed in front of the window, speaking quietly.  
  
When Tom reached Dr. Death’s house, he dropped the gauze on the kitchen table. “How much was it again?” Dr. Death said.  
  
“Seven carbons,” Tom said.  
  
“Wait, hang on,” Dr. Death said, taking the gauze. “Didn’t we agree on four or five?”  
  
“That was before I learned that my supplier had raised the price,” he said. “I called everyone I know, and she was the only one that was available.”  
  
Pony started to argue, but Dr. Death shot him a look that silenced him. “Go get the payment,” he said. “And take this to Newsie,” he added, handing him the gauze. As Pony left the kitchen, Dr. Death turned to Tom. “So what took you so long?”  
  
“I had a brief run-in,” Tom muttered.  
  
“With who?”  
  
He paused and looked away. “I ran into Cherri on the road,” he said.  
  
Dr. Death raised his eyebrows. “Cherri?” he said. “No kidding?”  
  
Tom told him what had happened. Dr. Death invited him to sit down, then folded his hands together and listened intently. When the story was over, he shook his head. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “So what was he doing? Running around with his gang?”  
  
“He said that he was camping for the night,” Tom said. “A gang called the Blood Moons showed up and attacked him and his partner.”  
  
“For no reason?” Dr. Death said.  
  
“That’s what he said,” Tom said. “I’m sure they had some kind of conflict.”  
  
Pony returned with seven carbons that he held out to Tom wordlessly. Tom tucked them inside his jacket. After Dr. Death asked Pony to excuse them, he sighed and glanced out the window. “That kid’s going to end up turning up dead one day,” he said.  
  
“I know,” Tom said.  
  
“If you hadn’t showed up tonight, he probably would have,” Dr. Death said. “I don’t think he would have survived that.”  
  
Tom shook his head. “I should have just left him,” he said.  
  
“Don’t say that, man.”  
  
“He’s a murderer, Steve. I just gave him the chance to kill another day.”  
  
“You don’t want to be the kind of person who leaves people on the side of the road,” Dr. Death said. “Trust me. I’m glad you picked Cherri up.”  
  
“I shouldn’t have done it,” Tom said. “I shouldn’t have even stopped. Maybe I should have run him over.”  
  
Dr. Death laughed shortly. “Tom, you don’t have it in you to do that,” he said. “And I think you know that.”  
  
Tom shook his head and looked away. His expression was distant. Dr. Death drummed his fingertips against the table, then backed away.  
  
“You can stay here for the night,” he said. “I don’t want you driving back at night.”  
  
“Am I risking my life by staying here?” Tom said.  
  
“Jesus, Tom,” Dr. Death said. “I don’t know what you think we’re doing here. We’re not planting bombs or sending threats to the Director.”  
  
“No, but you’re clearly involved in something that you don’t want them to know about.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it, man,” Dr. Death said. He wheeled over to the kitchen counter, then took a bowl of tea bags from the cabinet. He hooked the hot plate up to the white device. The green light blinked.


	22. Chapter 22

A few days later, Tom drove to an old strip mall that was perched beneath a rocky hill. The signs were cracked and faded, the windows boarded up. Grass sprouted through the cracks in the parking lot. The lot was packed with vendors selling goods arranged on tables, spread out on blankets, tossed in the beds of pick-up trucks. Tom wandered through the market, talking to several vendors, but couldn’t make a deal with any of them. Eventually, he headed for the strip mall, where one of the doors was propped open. Flies buzzed around a smashed tomato near the entrance.  
  
He stepped into what looked like an old grocery store. The floor was laid with red-and-white tiles. Dark freezers lined the back wall. As he walked through the aisles of empty shelves, he checked that his ray gun was holstered. One of the back doors was propped open. He walked through a dimly-lit hallway until he entered a wide room with a generator humming near the doorway.  
  
Greenish lights glowed from the ceiling. The wall next to the ancient vending machine was papered with fliers from the sixties. A heavyset woman sat at the table in the middle of the room. Folding chairs were scattered and upturned around the room. The woman was surrounded by cardboard boxes. She was almost bald except for a few wisps of hair.  
  
“Well, hello there,” she said. “Are you Tommy?”  
  
“Yes,” he said with a note of hesitation.  
  
“Sit down,” she said. “I’ve got some things that you might be interested in.”  
  
He took a seat across from her. When they shook hands, he noticed that her arms were mottled and streaked with burn scars. She hefted one of the boxes onto the table. “I just got these in yesterday,” she said. “I can’t speak for the quality, but it’s all bargain-priced anyway, so they shouldn’t be expecting much.”  
  
She pushed back the top flaps. Tom peered into the box, then stopped. He picked up one of the books. The box was packed with identical copies of the same novel: _Pink Winter_ by Jennie Rhinestone. Tom looked at her oddly.  
  
“These are all the same book,” he said.  
  
“Yes,” she said slowly, as if he were having trouble understanding.  
  
“Ma’am, when you said you had books from the city—”  
  
Suddenly she burst out laughing. “Oh no!” she said. “Don’t tell me you wanted the actual books!”  
  
“Yes,” he said. “I thought you were talking about gardening books, how-to manuals…”  
  
She laughed until she wiped tears from her eyes. “Oh, my sweet summer child,” she said. “Turn to page fifty-two.”  
  
Tom opened the book. A thin plastic baggie was taped to the page. Glittery yellow powder dusted the inside of the bag. Tom shot her a look, then dropped the book in the box. The woman burst out laughing again. He sighed and shook his head, standing up.  
  
“So you’re a drug smuggler,” he said.  
  
“Not exclusively,” she said pleasantly. “Are you familiar with the black market?”  
  
“Yes. I’m familiar with it.”  
  
“Not that familiar, it seems,” she said. She popped open a can of soda. “Are you hard up for cash right now, Tommy?”  
  
“Is that relevant?” he said.  
  
“Well, that’s certainly the impression that I got from your call,” she said. “You might want to think about broadening your horizons.”  
  
“I’m not selling drugs,” he said flatly.  
  
“Didn’t you hit up one of my associates for weed not too long ago?” she said.  
  
He sighed and looked away. “I’m not selling fuzz,” he said. “I’ve known people who were addicted to fuzz. It’s disgusting.”  
  
She leaned forward and set the can on the table. “Look,” she said. “I can tell you’ve got a few things going for you. First off, you’re good-looking. That’s good. It makes people think they can trust you. Second. You’ve traveled all over the place. You know people all over the Zones, even if they’re not biting right now.”  
  
“Are these prerequisites for selling filth?” he said.  
  
“Nobody said you have to sell drugs,” she said. “I’m just saying that you might want to think a little before knocking the black market.”  
  
“No,” Tom said. “I’m not getting involved in this.”  
  
“All right, suit yourself,” she said. She closed the box and hauled it off the table. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Tommy?”  
  
“No,” he said stiffly. “Thank you.”  
  
She laughed. “I know I’ll be seeing you here again eventually,” she said. “The black market’s where the money is right now.”  
  
He looked at her coldly, then swept out of the room. The sky was clear and bold as paint as he drove back to Sunburst. He dropped off a few magazines that the library had ordered. As he returned to his car, a rusty pick-up truck pulled up to the library. A dog that had been sniffing the side of the road darted off into the grasses. The engine roared and clanked as if the truck were climbing up the side of a mountain.  
  
The driver stuck his head out of the window. “Hey!” Pony said. “Tom! Oh my God. I’m glad I caught you.”  
  
“What is it, August?” Tom said.  
  
“It’s Pony,” he said, tapping the side of the door. “You’ve gotta get used to saying that. And D said he wants to talk to you.”  
  
“Talk to me about what?” Tom said.  
  
Cherri looked around, then gestured for him to step forward. “It’s about Cherri,” he said.  
  
Tom stopped. “Cherri?” he said. “Are you serious?”  
  
Pony waved a hand. “I’m not supposed to say much,” he said. “He said he wants to tell you in person.”  
  
“Tell me what?” Tom said. “What’s going on?”  
  
“He’s not dead,” Pony said quickly. “It’s not that. He’s just—” He started to speak, then shook his head and clamped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry. D wants to tell you. Just follow me back to the house.”  
  
Tom eyed him suspiciously, but climbed into his car. He followed Pony to the outskirts of Sunburst and into the empty desert that surrounded the town. They followed a dirt road for a while, then drove through an unpaved stretch of desert until they came to the house. Dr. Death was waiting in the radio room. He nodded toward Tom in acknowledgement.  
  
“Hey, Tom,” he said. “Pony, could you excuse us for a minute?”  
  
Pony darted out of the room. Dr. Death sighed heavily, then took a device from one of the desk drawers. After a moment, Tom recognized it as an old tape recorder.  
  
“I found this station a couple of weeks ago,” Dr. Death said. “This kid sounded like Cherri, but I tried telling myself, no, it’s just someone that sounds like him. But then I caught the beginning of the broadcast last night.”  
  
He punched the _PLAY_ button. Tom folded his arms and listened.  
  
“— _hey, it’s Cherri fucking Cola_ ,” Cherri’s voice slurred. “ _Total lack of judgment, no regard for anything sensible. Birthday parties every night. I just left Four. Spent weeks hooked up to an IV drip_ …”  
  
As the recording went on, Cherri rambled aimlessly, his voice fading in and out. A shadow passed over Tom’s face. Dr. Death’s expression was grim.  
  
“ _Preferred murder method_ ,” Cherri mumbled. “ _Ripping out assholes. Gloveless. Watch as the internals slowly slide out like melting ice cream_ …”  
  
Tom looked away as if he were about to gag. Dr. Death stopped the recording. He leaned back in his seat and looked up at him.  
  
“Tom, I think we need to think about getting this kid out of there,” Dr. Death said.  
  
Tom looked at him in surprise. He turned away, slowly shaking his head. Dr. Death knew what he was thinking.  
  
“You knew Cherri,” Dr. Death said. “You know this isn’t him.”  
  
“I never knew Cherri,” he said.  
  
“Okay, you knew what the Soldiers for Peace had warped him into. But I know you saw that under all this bullshit, he’s just an ordinary kid.”  
  
“I don’t believe that,” Tom said. “There’s something wrong with him.”  
  
“I think he’s drugged out of his mind,” Dr. Death said. “That’s what it sounded like. They’ve probably got him hyped up on fuzz and waves.”  
  
“Drugs don’t make you a murderer,” Tom said.  
  
“No, but they can fuck up your head pretty bad,” Dr. Death said. “Right now, I’d be surprised if he even knows what he’s doing. They probably drug him up and send him out to the field.”  
  
Tom shook his head. “He made his own decisions,” he said. “He chose to get involved in this gang, he chose to start using fuzz, and he might not have known what their intentions were at first, but when he was first confronted with a Drac, he chose to pull the trigger. The gang didn’t make him do that. Fuzz didn’t make him do that.”  
  
“Tom, it’s not that simple,” Dr. Death said. Tom started to interrupt, but he went on. “You always have this black-and-white view of everybody as good or bad. I’m not excusing what Cherri’s done, but sometimes good people do fucked-up things. You think this is what he planned when he came out to the desert?”  
  
“How do you know that he’s a good person?” Tom said. “Maybe he’s always been like this. Maybe they kicked him out of the city for being violent.”  
  
“First off, that’s not how the city works,” he said. “And second—I don’t know, Tom. Maybe I’m wrong about him, maybe he’s just a violent asshole. I don’t know. But do you really think that Cherri’s beyond saving?”  
  
“Yes, I do,” Tom said.  
  
“No, you don’t. If you thought that, you would’ve left him to die on the road.” Dr. Death dropped the tape recorder in the drawer. “Look, Tom. I don’t know what’s going on with the Soldiers, but I’ve heard of gangs like it. They get these kids in early and brainwash them to hate the city or other gangs or whoever it is they’re after.”  
  
“And you think that’s what happened to Cherri?” Tom said. “You think he was just brainwashed, and you’ll get him out of the gang and he’ll snap right back to normal again?”  
  
“No, no. Of course not. I just—I just don’t think I can leave this kid in that shithole.”  
  
Tom looked at him with a hint of sympathy. But he said “You’re wasting your time, Steve.”  
  
Dr. Death laughed harshly. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe I am. Who the fuck knows.”  
  
When Tom headed to leave, Dr. Death followed him to the front door. “Hey,” Dr. Death said. Tom paused, his hand on the doorknob. “I know we’re not exactly meeting under the best of circumstances, but—it’s been good seeing you again.”  
  
Tom’s expression was unreadable. “It’s good to see you, too, Steve,” he said.  
  
\---  
  
As Newsie recovered from her twisted ankle, Dr. Death and Pony helped her monitor the stations and news feeds in her communication room. The room was stacked with radio equipment, dusty television sets, transmitters, radars, even a bulky computer screen. She tapped into feeds and networks from across the Zones and inside Battery City. Occasionally she made calls to people that Dr. Death had never heard of. She sold information to a few trusted people.  
  
Dr. Death broadcasted the major news on his radio program: Drac movements, new policies, turmoil inside the city. He tracked weather movements and warned listeners about acid rain and radiation clouds. Listeners called in from all around the Zones. Once when he broadcasted about a team of Dracs heading to Zone Two to install surveillance cameras, two settlements joined together to drive them off. His reports were repeated across the radio waves as if they were official announcements from the Director of Battery City.  
  
As the number of listeners increased, Dr. Death started charging more for advertisements and radio play. Pony received the occasional donation from listeners in Sunburst. Tom eventually agreed to sell supplies to them on the condition that Pony met him in town. Dr. Death advertised him on his program, which displeased him until he saw a slight increase in sales. After a few months, he managed to save enough to buy a small property on the outskirts of town. He had no furniture to bring, only his car and what he had in his suitcase.  
  
Meanwhile, as Dr. Death’s broadcast gained popularity, tensions between the city and the Zones started to increase. A few people tried to sneak through the city border to smuggle out friends and relatives, but were quickly arrested. A rumor arose that Dr. Death’s show was being transmitted to the poorest sections of the city. Newsie caught snatches of arguments and protests inside the border. The security increased until no one was allowed out of the city except Draculoids with clearance.  
  
One day, Dr. Death’s transmitter buzzed while he was working in the garden with Pony. He wiped the sweat off his forehead, then said “Hand me that transmitter.” Pony grabbed it from the supply bucket and tossed it to him.  
  
“Hello?” Dr. Death said.  
  
“It’s Newsie,” she said. “Where are you?”  
  
He looked around the garden. “We’re outside, working in the garden,” he said. “Something going on?”  
  
“Can you come over here?” she said.  
  
“Right now?”  
  
“Yeah. There’s something that you need to see.”  
  
They packed up their gardening tools and drove to Newsie’s house. They followed her into the communication room, where a news report played on one of the TV screens. The screen played images of a mound of crumbled concrete, like the remains of a building destroyed in the wars. White-suited employees investigated the wreckage. Someone was carried off in a stretcher. Dr. Death was suddenly gripped with fear. He looked wildly at Newsie for an explanation, but she pointed at the screen.  
  
“ _Sources tell us that the bomb came from an outside source_ ,” the newscaster said. “ _Materials were discovered that are commonly found in the Zone One_ …”  
  
“Someone bombed the city border,” Newsie said. Pony clapped his hands over his mouth.  
  
“Holy shit,” Dr. Death said. “Did anybody get hurt?”  
  
“A security guard was killed,” she said. “A few others were injured. I don’t think they have all the details yet.”  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Dr. Death said. “Any word on a motive?”  
  
“No,” she said. “They’re not even sure who did it.”  
  
“That’s horrible,” Pony breathed.  
  
The report showed images of the wreckage from different angles, a collapsed security booth, ambulances parked around the scene. The area was covered in a blanket of dust and debris. Black-and-white security footage showed the explosion: a white cloud of smoke erupted around the foundation, then the concrete crumbled like a block of cheese. A shadowy figure was shown escaping the scene. The employees doused the small fires that had erupted with water and sand.  
  
“I can’t believe this,” Dr. Death said. “You know, I know people like to talk big and say they’re going to attack the city, but I never thought that one of them would actually do it.”  
  
“Neither did I,” Newsie said.  
  
“It’s horrible,” Pony said again. “I mean, when did it become okay to start killing people?”  
  
“Well, look at the Soldiers for Peace,” Dr. Death said. “This isn’t a new thing. I just never thought that they’d be targeting civilians.”  
  
“I don’t think they were civilians,” Newsie said. “These were Dracs, security guards. Not that it excuses it, of course.”  
  
“Yeah, but these people were just doing their jobs,” Dr. Death said. “I bet most of them had never even stepped foot in the desert. The people in the city aren’t the ones attacking us, it’s the fucking Dracs that they send out here.”  
  
The report was suddenly interrupted by the announcement of a public statement from the Battery City Head of Defense. The screen showed an empty podium. People coughed and murmured in the audience. Finally, a man in a grey suit approached the microphone. He struck Dr. Death as vaguely familiar. He pressed a few buttons on a tablet, then looked coldly at the audience as if they had planted the bombs themselves.  
  
“ _Good morning_ ,” he said. “ _At 10:06 A.M., an explosion was reported on the northeastern side of the Battery City border…_ ”  
  
He read off the facts for several minutes. His voice sounded like steel scraping against concrete. At the end of the report, he paused and tapped something on his tablet before speaking again. A camera in the audience flashed.  
  
“ _Better Living is launching an investigation into Zone One_ ,” he said. “ _Two teams of Scarecrow officials will be deployed into the area to follow up on the current leads. If unsuccessful within the first twenty-four hours, the investigation will continue as needed. All Draculoid units have been advised not to travel to the Zones during this time_.”  
  
The three of them exchanged shocked glances. “What the hell does that mean?” Dr. Death said. “Following up on leads. Are they interrogating people?”  
  
“Probably,” Newsie said.  
  
“Interrogating who? Do they even have suspects, or are they just going to harass everyone that they think was involved?”  
  
“My money’s on the second one,” Newsie said. “Even we might be interrogated, if they think we’re connected somehow. Running a pirate radio station.”  
  
“Shit,” Dr. Death said. “Well, we better broadcast this while we still have the chance. People need to know what’s going on.”


	23. Chapter 23

They drove back to their house. After Dr. Death broadcasted the news, the waves quickly became electrified with reports, stories, and rumors. Half an hour later, the first reports came of a white van spotted just outside the city. The DJs began to sign off. People warned their listeners to get off the road, find shelter, stay inside.  
  
“Hand me my transmitter, will you?” Dr. Death said to Pony. “I’m going to call Tom. I don’t know if he’s listening right now.”  
  
Back at his house, Tom’s transmitter buzzed. He stood at the kitchen counter, sorting a box of supplies that he’d bought from a scavenger on the side of the road. He picked up the transmitter. “Hello?” he said.  
  
“ _Hey, Tom_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _Are you listening to the radio?_ ”  
  
“No, I’m not,” he said.  
  
“ _All right. Look. I don’t know if you heard about this, but someone planted a bomb at the border this morning. One of the guards was killed, a few other people were injured. The city’s out for blood._ ”  
  
“Who was involved?” Tom said after a pause.  
  
“ _They don’t know_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _That’s why they’re sending the ‘Crows out here to investigate._ ”  
  
Tom swore under his breath. “They’re coming here?” he said. “Today?”  
  
“ _Yup. One of the vans was already spotted on Route Lakeview_.”  
  
“Are they coming to Sunburst?”  
  
“ _We don’t know_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _That’s why we’re all just lying low. Stay inside. Don’t go out on the road_.”  
  
“I’ve got three deliveries scheduled for today,” Tom said.  
  
“ _You’re going to have to call and reschedule, man_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _They probably wouldn’t let you in anyway. Everyone’s huddling in_.”  
  
Tom sighed and peered out the window, as if he expected to see the Scarecrow van pulling up any moment.  
  
“ _Don’t risk it, Tom_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _You don’t want to fuck with these guys._ ”  
  
“I know,” he said.  
  
“ _Just stay inside. I’ll try to keep in touch. Do you still have the long wave radio?_ ”  
  
“Yes, I do.”  
  
“ _All right. Keep it out. We’ll have to use it if communication goes down_.”  
  
They said their goodbyes and the call ended. After Tom called Kristan with the news, he checked every door and window to make sure it was locked. He checked the charge on his ray gun, then slipped it in a kitchen drawer. He leaned against the kitchen counter and looked up at the ceiling. After several minutes, he picked up his transmitter and called to reschedule the deliveries. Nervous energy ran through his body like a current. He paced back and forth, tried to focus on the supplies, then stopped when he couldn’t concentrate and paced again.  
  
Tom ran a hand through his hair, then sat down at the kitchen table and switched on the radio. There were a few reports of Scarecrow officials being sighted near Cherryville, but most of the DJs had signed off. He stood in front of the windows and watched the desert until he couldn’t stand still any longer. He carried the box of supplies to his bedroom, then paced around in the kitchen. He checked the drawer to make sure that the ray gun was still there. The clock ticked in the silence.  
  
After a while, he turned on the radio, expecting to hear static. But a sterile female voice rang out in the kitchen.  
  
“— _shut down until further notice_ ,” the voice said. “ _Thank you for your patience. In accordance with Battery City protocol, all radio communication has been shut down until further notice_ …”  
  
Tom swore. He tried other stations, but the voice had blocked out every channel. He switched off the radio, then leaned forward and cradled his face in his hands. A dark feeling seemed to be creeping over him. Images of white-suited Dracs flashed through his mind, looming over him with their rubbery, misshapen masks.  
  
The long wave transmitter buzzed. Tom jumped, a jolt of panic surging through his veins. His heart pounded as he grabbed the transmitter.  
  
“ _Hello?_ ” Dr. Death said. “ _Tom? Can you hear me?_ ”  
  
“Yes, I can hear you,” Tom said.  
  
“ _Okay, good. Pony and I are shutting down communications for a while, so I just wanted to tell you this before we go. Before the radio went down, Newsie caught wind of a van headed for Sunburst._ ”  
  
Tom’s breath caught in his throat. “I’ve locked the doors,” he said. “I’ve stayed inside, I kept the lights off…anything else?”  
  
“ _I think that’s all you can do_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _Just lay low. They’ll probably pass right by you_.”  
  
The call ended. Tom dropped the transmitter in the kitchen drawer, then swept around the house, drawing the curtains. The house became as dark and cramped as the inside of a cave. He sat down in the living room and tried to steady his breathing. But the panic rose in uncontrollable waves, as if someone else were flipping the switch. He thought of the rosary that his mother had kept in her bedroom. _Tommy, whenever you need help, just pray to Jesus._ Sometimes she clutched it during air raids, murmuring to herself.  
  
Suddenly a car door slammed outside. His head shot up. He remained seated, praying that it was in his imagination. But a moment later, footsteps marched up to the door. A rush of adrenaline flooded his body. Someone knocked on the door. He jumped, his heart pounding.  
  
“Scarecrow Unit A-12,” said a male voice. “Open the door.”  
  
His legs felt weak, as if his bones were filled with water. He steadied himself and opened the door. Two Scarecrow officials towered over him. Their bodies were covered with white bodysuits and black bulletproof vests. Even their heads were covered with white hoods stamped with the Better Living logo, like faceless monsters from a dream.  
  
“You're Tom?” one of the officials said.  
  
“Yes,” he said.  
  
“You speak German?”  
  
The question struck him as odd, but he said “Yes.”  
  
“Good. Let’s go.”  
  
They pushed past him and marched into the kitchen. “Sit down,” the official said. Tom shakily sat down at the table. One of the officials dropped a thin hardback book in front of him. The spine was torn, the cover smeared with grime. The other official gave him a few blank papers and a pen.  
  
“Translate this,” one of the officials said. “Make it accurate.”  
  
Tom opened the book. The pages were stiff and stained as if they’d been dipped in coffee. The front page read _Hanna’s_ _Großer Tag_ _,_ with an illustration of a girl with a watering can. The copyright date was 1959.  
  
“It’s a children’s book,” Tom said. “ _Hanna’s Big Day._ ”  
  
“Get on with it,” the official said.  
  
Tom turned to the first page. As he translated the book, the officials loomed behind him like some suffocating force, as if one of their massive hands were holding him down against the table. After ten minutes, he closed the book. One of the officials snatched the pages and scanned his writing.  
  
“That it?” he said.  
  
“Yes. That's it.”  
  
They grabbed the book and marched out of the kitchen. Tom didn’t move from the table. He flinched when the front door slammed. The engine hummed to life, so quiet that it was barely audible, then disappeared down the highway. He sat silently at the table for several minutes, as if the slightest movement would attract them back to the house. Eventually, he climbed to his feet. His hands shook as he locked the front door. He leaned against the kitchen counter, his heart still racing.  
  
Afternoon had fallen when his transmitter buzzed. “Hello?” he said. The adrenaline had drained away, but his nerves were still shaky and raw.  
  
“ _Hey, man_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _Are you okay? We heard that the ‘Crows were spotted on your road_.”  
  
Tom took a deep breath. “They stopped at my house,” he said.  
  
“ _Wait, what? They stopped at your house?_ ”  
  
“Yes. They wanted me to translate a children’s book.”  
  
“ _A—what? Hang on. What? They wanted you to translate a children’s book?_ ”  
  
“It was an old German book. Published in the 50s.”  
  
“ _What the hell? Did they say why?_ ”  
  
“No,” Tom said. “They came in, ordered me to translate it, and left.”  
  
“ _And they didn’t say anything else?_ ”  
  
“No, they didn’t.”  
  
“ _Jesus_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _Are you okay? They didn’t threaten you?_ ”  
  
“No, they never threatened me.”  
  
“ _Good_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _I just…God. What the hell did they want with a German children’s book?_ ”  
  
“I don’t know,” Tom said. “It must be a piece of evidence.”  
  
“ _Must be_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _Anyway, Pony and I got our communications back up. They’ve left Sunburst. I think they’re done with us for today, but we’re still not going outside until this is over._ ”  
  
They said their goodbyes and the transmission ended. Tom switched on the radio, but the waves were still blocked. He searched the frequencies on the long wave transmitter. A few people shared stories about van sightings and rumors of interrogations. For a while, the only sound in the house was static intercepted by the occasional conversation. Dr. Death checked on him a few times, but had no news to report. Kristan said that she was hiding out in the back room of a bar. A chill seemed to fill the house, as if the Scarecrow officials had left an infection in the walls.  
  
After a while, orange evening light started to glow through the curtains. He wandered to the kitchen, knowing that he should eat something, but his stomach was still in knots. He pushed back the curtains over the front windows. The highway outside was empty. He sighed and lit a candle, then started rifling through one of the cabinets.  
  
As he sliced a can open with his pocketknife, he started to notice that the wind was picking up outside. He glanced out the window. A strong wind whipped through the grasses, bending them almost horizontally. Flecks of dirt and debris pattered against the window. Tom opened the door and stepped outside, then stopped. A massive wall of dust loomed over the horizon. _Shit,_ he thought. He slammed the door and locked it as the winds started to roar.  
  
He darted around the house, checking the locks, stuffing towels into the cracks around doors and windows. Within minutes, the wind was howling outside, whistling through cracks and rattling the surface. An orange fog swallowed up the landscape outside, as if he were in the center of a tornado. Trees and rocks became silhouettes. The wind tore through the bushes around the house as if they were loose filaments. Dirt and grit clattered against the windows like rain.  
  
Tom folded his arms and watched the storm for a few minutes. Sticks and leaves flew through the air. The cloud of dust cast a brownish-orange tint over the inside of the house. He headed back to the kitchen and gathered up the box of supplies. The wind roared outside the walls like a hurricane. A loose branch smacked against the roof.  
  
As he carried the box back to the bedroom, something pounded against the front door. Tom whirled around, suddenly alert. The pounding came again, followed by a muffled voice. “Open up, man!” he said. “Please! I’m not a ‘Crow!”  
  
The adrenaline surged again, coursing through his raw, frayed nerves. His mind raced frantically. He dropped the box and headed for the door, where the stranger was pounding again. “Open up!” he shouted. “Please!” The door shook in its frame. If he didn’t answer, Tom realized, this person might break the door down. He slipped his ray gun out of the drawer, then unlocked the door and yanked it open.  
  
A figure stumbled inside amid the howling winds. Tom slammed the door shut, cutting off the wind. The  man wore a thick jacket, flannel pants, and boots. Goggles and a bandana shielded his face. Dust had settled into every crease of fabric. The man took off the goggles and bandana, shaking more sand onto the floor. Tom’s stomach sank at the sight of him.  
  
“Thanks, man,” Cherri said. His eyes were red and watery from the grit. “Sorry I burst in like that. I wasn’t going to bother you, but that storm just came out of nowhere.”  
  
“What are you doing here?” Tom said.  
  
“We heard about the ‘Crows stopping by at your house,” he said. “We decided to keep an eye on you for the rest of the night. We’re doing it for everyone who was interrogated.”  
  
“I wasn’t interrogated,” Tom said.  
  
“Really?” Cherri said, taking off his boots. “Then what the hell happened?”  
  
“They wanted me to translate a children’s book from German,” he said.  
  
“No kidding?” Cherri said. “Wow. That’s really strange.”  
  
“I assume it was some piece of evidence,” Tom said.  
  
“So they involved you in their investigation,” Cherri said. “That’s bullshit, man. I’m sure they could have gotten someone from the city to do it.”  
  
Tom looked at him coolly. Cherri turned and started flipping through the cabinets as if he were visiting his parents’ house. He grabbed a glass and reached for the water jug on the counter.  
  
“Cherri,” Tom said sharply.  
  
Cherri looked up, then looked at the glass in his hand. “Oh!” he said. “I’m so sorry, man. I’m so used to just grabbing whatever I want at our friends’ houses. Do you mind?”  
  
“Just sit down,” Tom said.  
  
Cherri sat down at the kitchen table, leaving the glass on the counter. Suddenly the long wave transmitter buzzed. Tom snatched it and hurried off to his bedroom. After a moment’s hesitation, he closed the door behind him. The winds still howled outside the bedroom walls, but their strength was starting to die down.  
  
“Hello?” he said.  
  
“ _Hey, man_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _You still doing okay? That was a pretty bad storm that just passed through_.”  
  
“Cherri just showed up at my doorstep,” Tom said.  
  
“ _What? Holy shit. Seriously?_ ”  
  
Tom glanced at the door as if Cherri might be listening outside. “He said that the Soldiers for Peace are watching my house,” he said. “They’re watching everyone that was interrogated.”  
  
“ _How many have you seen?_ ”  
  
“I’ve just seen Cherri.”  
  
“ _And he just showed up at your front door?_ ”  
  
“He tried to get in during the dust storm. I don’t know how long he’d been here.”  
  
Static rustled as Dr. Death shifted in his seat. “ _Jesus Christ_ ,” he said. “ _Where is he now?_ ”  
  
“He’s in the kitchen.”  
  
“ _So he’s still in the house?_ ”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Dr. Death paused. Tom could practically see the thoughtful expression on his face. Finally, he said “ _Tom, I’m going to say something that’s going to piss you off._ ”  
  
“What is it?” Tom said dully.  
  
“ _Just—keep Cherri there for a while_.”  
  
“Why?” he said immediately.  
  
“ _I don’t want to say too much_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _It’s not a sure thing, especially with the roadways blocked. Just keep him there until you get another call from me. Don’t let him leave_.”  
  
“I can’t keep him here,” Tom said.  
  
“ _Yeah, you can. Just say that you don’t want him outside at night with ‘Crows prowling the road_.”  
  
“And he’s going to believe that I’m suddenly concerned about his well-being?”  
  
“ _Man, Tom, just figure something out. I promise you, there’s a reason I’m doing this._ ”   
  
Tom sighed and shook his head. He glanced at the door again. “I’ll tell him to stay,” he said. “But you know that I can’t stop him if he tries to leave.”  
  
“ _I know. Just do what you can. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible._ ”  
  
After the call ended, Tom returned to the kitchen to find Cherri still sitting at the table, cleaning grains of sand from his transmitter. His arms were thick and muscular, with veins protruding under the skin. Years of sun exposure had hardened his skin. His hair was stringy as if he hadn’t washed it in days.  
  
“One of the guys back at the camp called me,” Cherri said. “The roads are closed. They’ve totally shut down transportation.”  
  
“Did they?” Tom said. Outside, the winds had died down. Night had fallen across the desert. When he pushed back the curtains, the sky was dark except for a faint light at the horizon.  
  
“Sounds like the storm’s over,” Cherri said. “Do you want me to take off?”  
  
“Stay here,” Tom said. “If you get caught, you’ll get traced back to me.”  
  
Cherri laughed. “I’m actually pretty good at not getting caught,” he said. “Believe it or not.”  
  
“I’m not risking it,” Tom said.  
  
Cherri didn’t argue. He turned back to his transmitter, wiping the knobs with a cloth. Tom checked the radio, then switched it off when he heard the familiar recording. He felt restless inside, as if he were burning with unused energy.  
  
An hour passed in silence. Tom brought paperwork from his bedroom and tried to concentrate in the candlelight. Cherri tried to make conversation a few times, but Tom quickly shut him down. Once Cherri’s transmitter buzzed. He stepped out of the room, said a few messages in what sounded like code, and returned with a solemn look on his face. He pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table.  
  
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Can I see this book?”  
  
A thin, paper-bound volume sat on the table in front of him. The title read _Zone Directory._ Cherri picked it up and flipped through the pages. Text and call numbers had been crossed out, with new numbers and notes written in German.  
  
“It’s out of date,” Tom said. “I only use it for a few contacts.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Cherri said. “We’ve got this book back at the camp. I don’t think anyone actually uses it for the numbers. People pass it back and forth and write notes to each other all the time.”  
  
Tom nodded, then flipped through a folder stuffed with pages. Cherri toyed with the book before laying it on the table. He folded his arms on the table and sat silently for a while. His dog tags gleamed in the candlelight.  
  
“Man, I wish I was out doing something,” he said faintly. “No disrespect, I just—I wish I was out doing something instead of sitting in here.”  
  
Tom laughed harshly. “I’m sure you would,” he said before he could stop himself.  
  
Cherri looked at him sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he said.  
  
“I think you know exactly what it means,” Tom said.  
  
Cherri’s expression went cold. “Tom, I’m not going to keep putting up with this disrespect,” he said. “I tolerated it at first because you let me stay here, but you’re not going to keep insulting my gang.”  
  
“Cherri, your gang goes out and night and kills Dracs,” Tom said. “My disrespect is nothing compared to what some people would do to you.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Cherri said. “I can put up with a lot of shit, but one thing I don’t tolerate is disrespect. And that goes for you, too. I’ve shut people down at the camp when they tried talking shit about you.”  
  
Tom laughed coldly. “Cherri, I hardly care what the Soldiers for Peace think about me,” he said.  
  
“I’m just saying,” Cherri said. “I’m not going to keep putting up with it.”  
  
Tom studied him, then lowered the folder. “Is this a threat?” he said.  
  
“No,” Cherri said. “Jesus, Tom. You know I wouldn’t hurt you. But you’re not going to keep insulting my friends, either.”  
  
“Your friends are murderers.”  
  
“My _friends_ saved my life,” Cherri said, his voice rising. “I know you don’t see it, but those guys gave me a chance when no one else would.”  
  
“Steve and Kristan gave you a chance,” Tom said.  
  
“That’s bullshit!” Cherri said. “They never gave me a chance. They dropped me as soon as they found out I was with the Soldiers.”  
  
“Is that a bad reason to drop someone?” Tom said.  
  
“Steve ran off with August the first chance he got,” Cherri said. “And I know, I know, they’re not fighting Dracs, but what they’re doing is just as illegal. It was never about the Dracs, man.”  
  
“It was never about the Dracs?” Tom said. “Is that what you say when you’re ripping out their insides? Steve and I heard your broadcast.”  
  
Cherri stopped. For a moment, he looked genuinely confused. “Tom, I’m high off my ass when I say that shit,” he said, rubbing a hand across his face. “I don’t even know what I’m saying half the time.”  
  
Tom looked at him with quiet disgust. “Do you know what you’re even doing on these runs anymore?” he said. “Or do you just take a handful of fuzz and drive out onto the highway?”  
  
“Shut the fuck up, man,” Cherri said wearily.  
  
“Do you even know how many people you’ve killed? Or is it just routine to you now, like taking out the laundry?”  
  
“Shut the fuck up,” Cherri said. “Jesus Christ, Tom. I don’t even know what to say to you. I just—” His voice wavered. “Fuck it. I guess we’ll be at each other’s throats until the day we die.”  
  
They held each other’s gaze for a few moments. Silence filled the room. Cherri dropped his hand, then cleared his throat and stood up.  
  
“Do you mind if I use your radio?” he said.  
  
“I don’t care,” Tom said.  
  
Cherri stood at the counter and flipped through the stations. Bursts of static hissed from the speakers, alternating with garbled cuts of the recording. Tom walked around the house and removed the towels from the windows. The towels were dusted with sand and grit. He wanted to sweep the floors, but even opening the back door to sweep the sand out seemed like a risk. Grime clung to the window screens.  
  
Tom dropped the towels in the laundry basket. He returned to find Cherri speaking into the transmitter again. Cherri spoke what sounded like a coded message, then ended the call.  
  
“The roads are still closed,” Cherri said. “They shut down the borders, too. No one’s getting in or out.”  
  
Tom nodded, then sat back down at the kitchen table. He cracked open the old leatherbound journal. Cherri hovered at the counter as if he were about to speak, but he wiped his runny nose and looked away. Minutes passed in silence. After a while, Cherri cracked his knuckles and took a deep breath.  
  
“Tom, do you have any painkillers?” Cherri said. His voice was faint.  
  
Tom looked up. “Painkillers?” he said. “No, I don’t.”  
  
“You wouldn’t tell me if you did, would you?”  
  
“Why do you want to know?”  
  
“I think I’m getting a headache,” Cherri said.  
  
“I don’t keep painkillers in the house,” Tom said.  
  
“Can I get a drink of water?” Cherri said. “Maybe I’m dehydrated.”  
  
Tom nodded. As Cherri poured a glass of water, the long wave transmitter suddenly buzzed. Tom snatched the transmitter and headed to his bedroom. When he closed the door, the dark room seemed to be unusually silent, as if the walls smothered all outside noise.  
  
“Hello?” he said.  
  
“ _Hey, man_ ,” Dr. Death said quietly. “ _Where are you?_ ”  
  
“I’m alone,” he said.  
  
“ _All right. Good. I had to go through a bunch of people on the long waves, but I finally got in touch with this rehab camp down south. They deal with people like Cherri who get sucked into these violent gangs. They said they can take him_.”  
  
Tom stopped. “Wait,” he said. “Are they coming here now?”  
  
“ _Not until the roadblock is over_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _But as soon as the city leaves, they’re driving up there. I gave them your address_.”  
  
“So a group of complete strangers are driving to my house.”  
  
“ _They’re not strangers_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _I mean, they are, but they’re reputable. Tim knows guys that used to live there. They help out people with PTSD_.”  
  
“And these people are going to drive to my house and essentially kidnap Cherri.”  
  
“ _They don’t underestimate people like him_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _Believe me. They know he’s dangerous. They’re going to send a couple of their toughest guards.”_  
  
“And what if this leads to a shootout? You know his first thought is going to be that I called them.”  
  
Dr. Death sighed heavily. “ _Tom, the last thing I want is for you to get hurt_ ,” he said. “ _Just listen to the guards. Do what they say. They’ll probably be there in a few hours_.”  
  
“How do you know that?” he said.  
  
“ _Word is that they zeroed in on the gang that’s been hiding the kid that did this,”_ Dr. Death said. _“They’ll probably be out of here in a few hours_. _But look—whatever the case, just keep Cherri there as long as you can_. _I know it’s hard. But this is probably our only shot to get him out of there_.”  
  
“I’m not sure that he deserves it,” Tom said.  
  
“ _It’s not about whether he deserves it or not_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _I’m getting him out of there before he does more damage to himself and the rest of the Zones_.”  
  
Tom shook his head as he returned to the kitchen. Cherri sat at the table, cradling his head in his hands. He looked up when he heard Tom’s footsteps. His eyes were wet and bleary.  
  
“Are you sure you don’t have anything?” Cherri said. “Maybe creosote? Some natural stuff?”  
  
“No, I don’t,” Tom said, sitting down at the table.  
  
“It just…God, it feels like an iron band clamped around my skull.”  
  
Cherri squeezed his eyes shut, clutching his head. Pain was etched across his face.  
  
“Can I open a window?” he said. “I just need some fresh air.”  
  
Tom nodded. Cherri opened the window above the sink. A cool breeze flowed into the room. He wiped his running nose on the bandana, then sniffed and cleared his throat. Tom thought of the recovering addicts who had come to him, begging for painkillers—the watery eyes, the running noses, the complaints of nausea and muscle pain.  
  
“Cherri,” Tom said. He turned around. “You’re going through withdrawals, aren’t you?”  
  
Cherri hesitated. He turned back to the window, then nodded. “Yeah,” he said without looking at Tom. “One of the guys must’ve stolen my stash out of my jacket. I didn’t even notice until I was on the road. I thought I’d be back at the camp in a few hours, but…obviously, it didn’t work out that way.”  
  
“How long does it typically last?” Tom said.  
  
“Hours,” Cherri said. “Days, if I don’t get a hook-up.”  
  
Tom lowered his eyes and returned to his paperwork. He tried to concentrate, but his mind was racing. Cherri clutched his head as if his skull had been cracked. He sneezed into the bandana, leaving a streak of dusty mucus.  
  
As the hour passed, Cherri’s complaints grew more frequent. He pressed a wet towel to his forehead. When the pain increased, he lay down on the couch in the dark living room, claiming that the candlelight was like a sharp point through his skull. He hissed in pain when Tom switched on the radio. Once he stumbled out the back door to retch, then slumped down at the kitchen table. His face was sweaty and white.  
  
“I feel like someone beat the shit out of me,” Cherri said in a strained voice.  
  
“Is that unusual for you?” Tom said.  
  
Cherri laughed. “You’d be surprised, Tom,” he said. “Can you…can you not rustle those papers so loudly? Sorry.”  
  
Eventually, he wandered back to the living room and covered his face with his hands. Tom stacked up the papers and carried them back to his bedroom. When he passed the living room, Cherri was standing up, rubbing his left arm. For an instant, Tom thought he was having a heart attack. A panicked look flickered in Cherri’s eyes.  
  
“It feels like there’s electricity in my veins,” Cherri said. He scratched at his skin, leaving pink streaks.  
  
“Don’t do that,” Tom said. “Just sit down. It’ll pass.”  
  
Cherri sat down and squeezed his hands together. “Tom, you’ve gotta have something here,” he said. “You don’t have any painkillers? Not even the cheap stuff?”  
  
“I don’t keep those in my house,” he said. “When I get painkillers, I sell them as soon as possible. Drugs increase the risk of break-ins.”  
  
“Don’t you ever get headaches?”  
  
“Nothing I can’t deal with.”  
  
Cherri bowed his head and slid his fingers through his hair. Later he stood up and stretched his arms, complaining of muscle aches. He drank two glasses of water, then retched outside again. He clawed at his skin until Tom told him to stop. His eyes were watery and feverish. Sometimes he collapsed on the couch and threw an arm over his face as if he were hungover. His hair clung to the back of his neck with sweat.  
  
Tom tried to call Dr. Death twice, but heard nothing but static. The clock ticked away the minutes. Once he spotted a pair of headlights outside the window. Cherri immediately snapped to attention and crept toward the window like a snake. Tom stepped back, his stomach knotting. But the car drove past the house, the engine whirring off into the dark.  
  
“I wonder if this mean’s the roadblock’s over,” Cherri said. His voice was faintly hoarse.  
  
“I haven’t heard anything,” Tom said. “They’re probably driving illegally.”  
  
Cherri sank down at the kitchen table. He wiped his reddened eyes. The muscles in his face were taut with pain.  
  
“Tom,” he said quietly.  
  
“What?” Tom said, still watching the window.  
  
“Look, man…” Cherri said. “I know a guy. He lives about eight miles from here. I’ll try to call him up and see if he can meet me halfway.”  
  
“Cherri, you’re not going out there,” Tom said.  
  
Cherri laughed humorlessly. “I can’t go the rest of the night like this,” he said. “Look, I don’t even know if I’ll be able to reach him. I don’t know if he uses long wave. But I feel like a corpse that just crawled out of my grave.”  
  
“If you go out there, you’ll be apprehended,” Tom said.  
  
“What about that car? Maybe the ‘Crows have left, man.”  
  
“Cherri, I wouldn’t trust that car on a good night. Anyone who’s out this late is suspicious.”  
  
“I’m not going to get caught, Tom. I promise you. I came all the way to your house and no one followed me.”  
  
“You’re not going out there,” he said. “When the Scarecrows are gone, I can’t try to stop you. But you’re not leaving now and putting both of us at risk.”  
  
Cherri slumped forward and rested his head on the table. The dog tags dangled from his neck. “God, I feel like death,” he mumbled.  
  
He shuffled off to the living room and collapsed on the couch. After several minutes passed, Tom started to hope that he would remain there until the people from the rehab camp arrived. He hauled out a bucket of water that he’d scooped from a ditch and started running it through the water purifier. Half an hour passed. Cherri didn’t move. He was screwing the cap on a jug of clean water when footsteps sounded behind him.  
  
Tom turned around. Cherri was lumbering toward the door like a sleepwalker. He grabbed the doorknob and tugged. The door was locked. He swore and yanked on the doorknob, shaking the door in its frame.  
  
“Cherri,” Tom said. “Stop it.”  
  
“I’m getting the fuck out of here, man,” Cherri said. “Give me the key.”  
  
Tom stood up. Cherri started toward him, his eyes glassy and feverish. “Give me the fucking key, Tom,” he said.  
  
“Cherri, you can’t go out there,” Tom said.  
  
“Give me the key,” he said. “I’m not fucking joking, man. Give me the key before I bust the door down.”  
  
Cherri swiped at him. Tom stumbled back against the kitchen counter. He reached back until he found the drawer. Cold dread rushed through his veins like an injection of ice water. When Cherri lunged for him, he whipped the ray gun out of the drawer and aimed it at him.  
  
In one swift moment, Cherri twisted his wrist, yanked the gun out of his hand, and knocked him to his knees. Tom immediately raised his hands in defense. Searing pain shot through his arm. Cherri stood there for a few moments, breathing hard, pointing the ray gun at the back of his head. “Give me the key,” he said. Tom handed him the key. He unlocked the door and swept outside, slamming the door behind him.  
  
As soon as he was gone, Tom hissed in pain, clutching his wrist. He stumbled to his feet, then searched the drawers until he found a roll of gauze. Throbbing pain ripped through the tendons as if they’d been severed. As he wrapped his hand, he tried Dr. Death’s frequency, but received no response. He weighed his options—leaving the house, calling for protection and risking them getting apprehended on the road, trying to barricade the door. Finally, he settled on the back-up ray gun in his bedroom, tucking it in the waistband of his jeans.  
  
Tom was leaning against the counter when the door burst open. He jumped as if he’d been electrocuted. Cherri stumbled inside, his hair matted with dirt and sweat. His eyes were ringed with greyish-yellow moisture. Tom reached for his gun and held it at his side.  
  
“What are you doing?” Tom said.  
  
Cherri held up a white ray gun. “Is this yours?” he said. His voice sounded drained.  
  
Tom looked at him in surprise. “Yes, that’s mine,” he said. He slipped the gun in the drawer. “You also have my house key.”  
  
Cherri fumbled in his pockets until he found the key. “I’m so sorry, man,” he said. “I just woke up out there. The last hour is just blank to me.”  
  
Tom held up his bandaged hand. “You threatened to leave, attacked, and disarmed me.”  
  
Cherri seemed to wither at the sight, like a plant crumpling under the sun. “Oh, Jesus,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Tom.”  
  
Tom shook his head. He took a drag and exhaled smoke into the air. Cherri watched the smoke, then looked at him strangely.  
  
“Are you smoking pot?” he said.  
  
“Yes, I am,” Tom said.  
  
“God, I wish I knew that you had pot earlier,” Cherri said. “It helps with the withdrawal symptoms.”  
  
“Does it?” Tom said disinterestedly.  
  
“Do you mind if I…”  
  
After a pause, Tom handed him the joint. “Don’t tell anyone that I have this,” he said.  
  
“No,” Cherri said. “Of course.”  
  
Tom folded his arms and leaned back against the counter. Cherri took a slow drag and blew out the smoke. The long wave transmitter buzzed. Tom reached for it, then switched it off.  
  
“You’re not going to answer that?” Cherri said.  
  
“I’ve had enough calls for tonight,” Tom said.  
  
They smoked for a while, neither of them speaking. The moon hung high in the sky. Insects sang shrilly outside, so loud that they were audible through the walls. Cherri’s transmitter buzzed once, but he switched it off. Tom’s wrist ached as if he’d smashed it against the edge of the counter. Outside the window, the wind whistled through the grasses.  
  
“Man, I’m so sorry about your wrist,” Cherri said. “I don’t even remember doing it. That whole hour is just a blur.”  
  
Tom stubbed out the end of the cigarette. “Do you remember most of your nights?” he said.  
  
“Not many,” Cherri said softly. “Not anymore. Just a few.”  
  
Shortly after midnight struck, a pair of headlight glowed outside the window. A green pick-up truck was pulling up to the house. Two women parked and stepped out of the truck. The first woman was tall with stringy, frizzy hair, while her partner was a short woman in overalls. Both wore ray guns strapped to their hips.  
  
“Who the hell are they?” Cherri said.  
  
Shaking his head, Tom hurried to the door. The women marched inside like a pair of armed guards. Their eyes immediately went to Cherri, as if Dr. Death had described him on the radio.  
  
“You’re Cherri Cola?” the first woman said.  
  
“What’s going on?” he said.  
  
“We’re from the Clearwater Rehab Camp about twenty miles south of here,” she said. “You’re coming with us, kiddo. Let’s go.”  
  
In an instant, Cherri darted for the door. She caught him around the middle, then tackled him to the ground and pinned his arms behind his back. Cherri shouted and kicked and writhed like an earthworm cut in half. The other woman planted her foot on his back and tied his wrists together. Finally, they hauled him to his feet like a sack of flour.  
  
“I’ll fucking kill you, Tom,” Cherri shouted as they pulled him toward the door. “You’re dead, you piece of shit. If I see you again, I’m going to slit your throat wide open.”  
  
“Hush up,” one of the women said. “You’re not going to be talking like that for the whole drive.”  
  
Cherri continued to shout as they pushed him outside and dragged him over to the car. One of the women pushed him into the backseat, then climbed in beside him and slammed the door. Her partner started the engine. The car sped off down the highway, leaving an eerie silence. Nothing stirred in the desert. After a few minutes, the insects started to chirp again in the grasses.  
  
For the first time, Tom realized that his hands were shaking. The night air chilled him as if he had stepped into a freezer. His brain urged him to go inside and lock the doors. But he stood in the doorway for what seemed like an indeterminable amount of time, the grasses around him rippling in the wind.


	24. Chapter 24

**2008  
  
** The American flag rippled in the wind as Dr. Death pulled the rope, drawing it to the top of the flagpole. Pony stood with his hand in salute. Once the flag reached the top, he tightened and secured the rope, then wheeled back to the campfire. The flagpole cast a long shadow across the sand. Dr. Death poured rice in a pan and shook it around before holding it over the fire. He looked around, then stopped.  
  
“Shit, I forgot to grab the spatula,” he said. “Go inside and grab it, will you?”  
  
“Sure thing,” Pony said. He darted inside the house.  
  
As the rice browned in the pan, a woman came walking down the highway. Her jeans and boots were caked in a layer of dust. A backpack and a bedroll were strapped to her back. As she drew up to the house, Dr. Death could see that she was in her early 40s, with white-blonde hair tied back in a ponytail.  
  
“Hey!” the woman said. “Are you Dr. Death Defying?”  
  
“Yes, I am,” Dr. Death said. “Have we met before?”  
  
She laughed. “Not exactly,” she said. “I’m Janet. I’ve been listening to your broadcast in the city for the past six months.”  
  
“Seriously?” Dr. Death said. “That’s great! I didn’t know it’d been running that long. I thought the city shut it down ages ago.”  
  
“They tried, but someone always found a way to link it back up,” she said.  
  
The front door slammed shut. Pony hurried outside with the spatula. “Hey,” he said to Dr. Death. “Who’s she?”  
  
“This is Janet,” Dr. Death said. “I guess you just left the city?”  
  
“A few days ago,” she said.  
  
“Well, hello there,” Pony said. “I’m Show Pony. And this is my man Dr. D.”  
  
He grabbed her hand in both of his and shook it. She smiled at him. “Janet,” she said.  
  
“So where are you headed?” Dr. Death said.  
  
“I’m walking to Sunburst,” she said. “I’ve got cousins that live there.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Dr. Death said. “Got time to stay for breakfast?”  
  
Pony hauled a lawn chair over to the fire. While the rice cooked, she told them how she and her husband had lived in Battery City for most of their lives. She was a bank teller, while he worked in a canning factory. After a fall down the stairs that left him with a back injury, he was told that he was unfit to work. None of the other factories would hire him. The compensation they received was so poor that they were forced to move to the Lobby, the poorest outskirts of the city.    
  
“We couldn’t believe it when we first started hearing about the Zones,” Janet said. “We always thought that it was a wasteland.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s what they tell people,” Dr. Death said. “Everyone says that when they come out here. The city told them that it was just sun and radiation.”  
  
“Is your husband coming out here?” Pony said.  
  
“He’ll be coming in a few days,” she said. “Only one of us could leave at a time.”  
  
Dr. Death nodded. “You know, we’ve got a broadcast coming up this morning,” he said. “What if you told your story on the waves?”  
  
She laughed. “I don’t think it’s that interesting,” she said.  
  
“No, it is!” he said. “It’s a great story. Maybe it’ll reach more people in the Lobby.”  
  
After some convincing, she agreed to tell her story on the airwaves. Dr. Death introduced her, omitting her real name, then passed over the microphone. Once she’d told her story, the switchboard lit up with callers. People from all over the Zones told stories about their experiences with the city. The broadcast ran an hour longer than usual. More callers were still waiting when Dr. Death finally signed off.  
  
“All right, I think we’re onto something here,” Dr. Death said. “Janet, when did you say your husband was coming out here?”  
  
“In a few days,” she said. “I don’t know the exact date.”  
  
“Well, when he gets here, send him over here, if you can. We’d love to hear from him.”  
  
They thanked Janet again before she left. When she was gone, Dr. Death grabbed the battered address book. He flipped through the call numbers of friends and acquaintances, a plan racing through his head.  
  
\---  
  
The black market was huddled inside an old campground. Old fire pits were still scattered around the area. Some sellers laid their wares out on the tables: clothing, knives, cigarettes, animal skulls, colored powders. Others kept their goods tucked away in boxes and crates. A few tables were hidden under makeshift tents. A thin crescent moon hung in the sky like a lemon rind, casting a bluish glow.  
  
Chow Mein strode through the market, avoiding the eyes of the sellers. After the previous winter, when he had nearly starved to death and DJ Hot Chimp caught a case of pneumonia that left her in a medical ward for two weeks, his dealings with the black market had become much more frequent. He ducked into an old military tent. A thin woman in a maroon coat sat at the table. Wavy dark hair framed her sharp, defined features. The tent was stacked with white boxes, some still wrapped in plastic.  
  
“You’re here for the order?” Red Eye said. Her voice was like steel wool.  
  
“Yes, I am,” Chow Mein said.  
  
She dug around in a crate until she found a small white box. The opening of the box was tattered. He opened it and pulled out two silver-backed pill cards. The top card was still intact, but the bottom card had six pills punched out.  
  
“That was all I could find,” Red Eye said in response to his look. “The city’s put more restrictions on painkillers.”  
  
“You know that I paid for a full box,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“I know,” she said. “I’ll get the other six to you when I can.”  
  
“I can’t wait for you to buy the rest of the pills,” he said. “They ordered a full box. I’m delivering it tonight.”  
  
“I’ll throw in a syringe,” she said. She took a plastic-wrapped syringe from a box near her feet and held it out. He didn’t take it.  
  
“Do you realize that my business with this camp could hinge on this exchange?” he said.  
  
“I don’t control the city regulations,” she said.  
  
“No, but you could have warned me beforehand.”  
  
“You know that I’ve been laying low,” she said. “I haven’t called anyone.”  
  
His first instinct was to keep arguing, but he knew that it was futile. He shook his head. “I’ll hold you to the rest of the pills,” he said. “I want to see the rest of them before the month’s over.”  
  
Red Eye dropped the syringe back in the box. “It won’t take that long,” she said.  
  
He headed outside, where he passed a large metal rack. The bottom shelf of the rack was stacked with folded clothes, while the top rungs were crammed with clothes on wire hangers. A large bald man whistled at him. Chow Mein set his jaw and kept walking. The man whistled again, as if he were calling a dog.  
  
“Hey,” Brick said. “Tommy.” Chow Mein stopped and closed his eyes. “Yeah, you. I’m talking to you, Slim.”  
  
Chow Mein turned around. Brick sat on a stool with his feet spread apart. “I got word of a little tip that you might be interested in,” he said.  
  
“What is it?” Chow Mein said.  
  
Brick waved a finger. “Now, now, Slim,” he said. “You know I can’t give these away for free.”  
  
Chow Mein sighed. He grabbed a shirt off the rack and draped it over his arm, then looked at Brick. Brick looked at him expectantly. He took down another shirt and a scarf. “All right, that’ll do it,” Brick said. He grinned as he flipped through the carbons that Chow Mein gave him.  
  
“I got a little call about some scrap metal,” Brick said. “I thought that you might be interested.” He handed Chow Mein a card with a set of coordinates written on it.  
  
“What kind of scrap metal?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“I couldn’t tell you,” Brick said. “I just know that it’s big, and there’s a lot.”  
  
“Probably another old war plane,” Chow Mein said, tucking the card inside his bag. “Is there anything else?”  
  
“Not at the moment,” Brick said. “But I might be coming into some more information in the future.”  
  
“You will or you won’t?”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know. We’ll just have to see what the future holds.”  
  
Brick looked at him playfully. Chow Mein shook his head as he walked off.  
  
After he left the market, Chow Mein drove down the highway, his ray gun resting on the dashboard. Whenever a pair of headlights appeared in the rearview mirror, he tensed as if a deer had darted out in front of him. But inevitably, the cars passed him or turned off on another road. Dozens of stars crowded the sky above him. A few dark wispy clouds hung near the horizon.  
  
He reached the camp twenty minutes later, the headlights flashing over the chain-link fence. He pressed a buzzer mounted to the fence. A woman hurried over to unlock the gate. She led him over to the office, an old trailer parked at the front of the camp. The trailer was crammed with shelves, books, stacks of papers, and boxes of loose supplies scattered around.  
  
The woman flicked on the light and sat down at the table. After being outside in the dark, the light seemed overly bright and artificial. “You’re that salesman, right?” she said as she flipped through a notebook.  
  
“Yes, that’s right,” he said.  
  
“All right. Let’s see what you got.”  
  
He handed her the box of painkillers. “About half the pills are missing,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll have the rest of them by the end of the month.”  
  
Relief washed over her face. “Oh, thank God,” she said. “We just got in a couple of new patients the other day.” She placed the box on a stack of books and marked it down in the notebook. “How much do we owe you?”  
  
“Ten carbons,” he said. “I’ll accept the rest when I bring the rest of the supply.”  
  
She stopped writing and looked up. “Wait,” she said. “Ten carbons?”  
  
“The agreement was sixteen carbons,” he said. “They typically go for one carbon a pill.”  
  
She looked at him incredulously. “One carbon a pill?”  
  
“Extra-strength painkillers? Yes. They’re nearly impossible to find outside of the city.”  
  
She stared at him. “All right, I think there’s been some miscommunication,” she said. She picked up a walkie-talkie. “Crystal? Can you come in here for a second?”  
  
“Is there some kind of problem?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Who did you talk to when you made this deal?”  
  
“I spoke to Crystal.”  
  
“Well, she didn’t consult me first. There’s no way we can afford this.”  
  
“Are you serious?” Chow Mein said, his impatience starting to show through.  
  
“Yeah. I’m serious. I don’t know what she was thinking.”  
  
Crystal arrived a few minutes later, out of breath. “Oh!” she said, grabbing Chow Mein’s hand and shaking it. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. We just had a little emergency with one of the patients. What’s going on?”  
  
The girl held up the box of painkillers. “He said he wants ten carbons for ten painkillers,” she said. “Then six more when he brings over the rest.”  
  
“He didn’t have the full set?” Crystal said.  
  
“That’s not the problem,” the girl said. “Crystal, we can’t afford that. We’ve got the food shipment coming in next week.”  
  
Crystal’s eyes widened. “Oh, no!” she said. “I’m so sorry. I forgot all about that.”  
  
“We can’t take these,” she said. She held the box out to Chow Mein, but he didn’t take it. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to sell them to someone else.”  
  
“You realize that I can’t be traveling on the highway with these,” he said. “Just driving over here was a risk.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “Crystal should have notified me.”  
  
“Do you realize that I paid eight carbons for these? Do you know how much gas money I spent to be here?”  
  
“Sir, I don’t know what to tell you,” she said. “Look, Crystal should have told me about it, but she didn’t. Okay? Can we please drop it?”  
  
“I’m so sorry, sir,” Crystal said. “I didn’t even think about the budget. It just slipped my mind.”  
  
Part of him wanted to bang his head against the wall, but he took the box. “Don’t screw over another supplier like this again,” he said. Crystal lowered her eyes as he swept out of the trailer.  
  
When he stepped outside, the world seemed pitch black until his eyes adjusted. He sat in the car with the box of painkillers. He couldn’t sell them to one of the patients, as many of them were recovering addicts. Anyone else who might buy them wouldn’t be around until morning. If he happened to get robbed while he was on the highway, he’d develop a reputation as someone who carried drugs, leading to more robberies. He sighed and sank back in the seat as if praying for guidance.  
  
Finally, he grabbed his ray gun and stepped out onto the highway. He tossed the box in the air and fired. The laser shot the painkillers out of the air in a burst of light. The box fell to the ground like a comet, flames dancing and crackling. He stamped the fire out beneath his shoes. Then he climbed into the car and drove away, leaving a crumpled, blackened box on the highway.  
  
Twenty minutes later, he pulled up to the motel. He held up a battered card that looked like it had once been attached to a room key. The receptionist nodded for him to go inside. He found Christy in room 3B, shouting into her transmitter. “Hold on,” she said. “I said, hold on! Jesus. Just give me a minute.”  
  
She lowered the transmitter and closed the door. “We’ve been arguing with this asshole all night,” she said. “Jamie just left. He couldn’t take it anymore.”  
  
“What’s going on?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Well, first this guy said he’s not coming over here, because he raised the price and he doesn’t think we can afford it,” she said. “Then he started saying that he thinks we’re too dangerous. But I think he just got a better offer and he doesn’t want to tell us.”  
  
“What’s the current offer?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“It’s fifty now,” she said. “Jamie pitched in ten. Here. You want to talk to this guy?”  
  
Before he could respond, she shoved the transmitter in his hands. He pulled out the chair and sat down at the desk. “Hello?” he said.  
  
“ _Hello?_ ” the man said. “ _Who the hell is this? Who am I talking to?_ ”  
  
“Tommy Chow Mein,” he said. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache building. “I’m a supplier from Zone One.”  
  
“ _Oh, great_ ,” he said. “ _Another one of those fucks. Look, I’m not shipping fifty units to Zone One. Not after I found out what a shithole that place is._ ”  
  
“What makes you so sure that it’s a shithole?” he said.  
  
“ _Uh—it’s right next to the city, there’s Dracs all over the place, one of you fuckers set a bomb off a couple of years ago, and you’ve got assholes out there who are riling people up into attacking the city._ ”  
  
“First of all, there are no Dracs in the desert,” Chow Mein said. “If there were, they would have dismantled the black market by now.”  
  
“ _I know they come out there. I’ve heard the reports._ ”  
  
“They come out occasionally to do tests or search for criminals. That’s it. I’ve seen less than a dozen Dracs in the past two years.”  
  
“ _Yeah, and how many fucking criminals you got out there? How many kids with nothing better to do than fuck with the city?_ ”  
  
“Very few,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“ _That’s bullshit. I heard about that bomb. I know what goes on out there._ ”  
  
Chow Mein sighed through his teeth. “If Zone One were a threat to the city, they would have taken us out years ago,” he said. “They have more firepower and law enforcement than we could ever hope to have.”  
  
“ _Yeah, whatever_ ,” the man said. “ _Look. I don’t see why I should work with you after some of the shit I’ve heard_.”  
  
“The Zone One market is easily the biggest in the Zones,” Chow Mein said. “Have you ever thought about that? If you get a bad reputation with us, you’ll have a bad reputation with everyone.”  
  
“ _You don’t have that kind of power_.”  
  
“It’s not about power. It’s about influence.”  
  
“ _I don’t give a shit about your influence._ ”  
  
“You live in Zone Four,” Chow Mein said. “How many people are you going to reach in Zone Four?”  
  
“ _A hell of a lot more than you know_.”  
  
“We’ve got three times the population of Zone Four. Most people in Four come to us for supplies.”  
  
“ _Then I’ll find someone else in Zone One. You think you’re the only suppliers out there?_ ”  
  
“No, but we’re the only suppliers with any kind of influence,” Chow Mein said. “And you must know that, or you wouldn’t have contacted us.”  
  
The man paused. “ _Well, maybe I got a better offer_ ,” he said.  
  
“How much?”  
  
“ _None of your damn business_.”  
  
“How much?” Chow Mein repeated.  
  
“ _More than you can offer_.”  
  
“We’ll go up to fifty-five.”  
  
“ _Nope_.”  
  
“Fine. Sixty.”  
  
“ _That’s not enough_.”  
  
“This could be one of the biggest business deals of your life,” Chow Mein said. “Do you realize that? Your other offer might be offering more in the short term, but if you turn this down, you’ll be cutting off a massive part of the market.”  
  
There was a pause. “ _Sixty-five_ ,” the man said.  
  
“Sixty.”  
  
“ _Sixty-five. That’s ten less than my other offer_.”  
  
“Fine,” Chow Mein said. “Sixty-five.”  
  
“ _Good. Are you done now? Are we done with this whole fucking argument?_ ”  
  
He passed the transmitter over to Christy to make the pick-up arrangements. After another bout of arguing, they finally settled on a deal. Finally, she switched the transmitter off. She blew out a breath, her hands resting on her hips.  
  
“Jesus H. Christ, that went on forever,” she said. “Thank God you showed up.”  
  
“Of course, now we’re paying more than we expected,” Chow Mein said. “Which was probably his plan from the beginning.”  
  
“Well, at least you finally shut him up,” she said. “Jamie would’ve gone apeshit if we lost the soap deal.”  
  
He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t respond. While she called Jamie, he cracked his knuckles and gazed out the window over the desk. The parking lot outside was dark. His face was reflected in the glass, like an image of a ghost.


	25. Chapter 25

Moonbeam sat in the grasses, watching Pony and Dr. Death wash their clothes in the stream. Dr. Death scrubbed clothes with a washboard, while Pony wrung out a T-shirt in the river. Rivulets of soap streaked through the water. Pony grabbed another soap plant bulb and crushed it in his hands, then started scrubbing a pair of jeans.  
  
Moonbeam had snuck out of the city a few months ago with a few friends from her housing unit. When she had arrived, her hair was tightly curled, but now dried wisps of hair waved in the breeze. Her small feet, which were once protected by socks and sneakers, were blistered and calloused. Sunburn had inflamed her nose and shoulders.  
  
“I don't think you guys are gonna have much luck tomorrow,” Moonbeam said.  
  
“Oh yeah?” Dr. Death said. He pinned a dripping shirt to a tree branch.  
  
“Everyone’s going to be there,” she said. “Everyone. You won’t be able to get a word in edgewise.”  
  
“Eh, I think they’ll have some time to spare for us,” Dr. Death said. “What about you guys? Are you still going?”  
  
“I don’t know,” she said. She jabbed a dry twig between her toes. “Dusty said he hates open mics. He said they’re bullshit.”  
  
“Hey, they’re not bullshit,” Pony said. “I love open mics. Everybody just says what’s on their mind.”  
  
She laughed. “That’s why he said he hates them,” she said. She flexed her toes, breaking the twig.  
  
Pony handed Dr. Death the dripping pair of jeans. Suddenly he shouted “There’s a fish!” He splashed in the water, spraying Moonbeam. She shrieked and scrabbled back. He laughed and splashed her again. She splashed him back, then stumbled to her feet, stripping off her wet jacket.  
  
“You know we’re gonna go in town today!” she said. “I’m gonna be soaking wet.”  
  
“Walk it off!” Pony said.  
  
He grinned as he ducked another shirt into the stream. Suddenly he looked up at the sound of a slamming door. Moonbeam turned around to see Moon Dust jumping out of his truck. “Hey!” he said. “What are you doing? Get away from there! We’ve gotta go!”  
  
“What the hell are you talking about?” she said.  
  
“Have you been listening to the radio at all?” Dusty said.  
  
“No.”  
  
“There’s been an arrest! Come on! We’re going to town!”  
  
“Whoa, hang on,” Dr. Death said. “What kind of arrest?”  
  
“The Dracs snagged some guy in Zone Two,” Dusty said. “It’s all over the radio. Come on,” he said to Moonbeam. “We’ve gotta go.”  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Dr. Death said.  
  
Pony jumped to his feet and dropped the wet shirt in the basket. “We better get back, D,” he said. He started unpinning the clothes from the tree branch. “Come on. We’ll do the rest of this later.”  
  
They drove back to the house. Dr. Death called Newsie while Pony listened to the radio. Eventually, they gathered the story: a man in Zone Two had been arrested for selling stolen newspapers. Dr. Death broadcasted the news on his show, but most of his listeners had already heard it. Newsie found a Battery City news broadcast that stated that his trial would be next week. Some listeners plotted to break him out, while others planned to construct a memorial.  
  
“Well, he’s done for,” Dr. Death said, switching off the radio equipment. “Probably get a year in rehab, where they’ll melt his brain and turn him into another factory worker.”  
  
“I bet his friends are going to be all over the waves,” Pony said.  
  
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “They’re going to try to stir people up, pushing for a break-out. But nobody’s getting in there. Not after that bombing a couple of years back.”  
  
For the next few days, they scanned the waves for updates, but the news quickly dried up. By the end of the week, the story seemed to have been forgotten. Even Newsie couldn’t find any further updates. Dr. Death had nearly put the incident out of his mind when Newsie called him one morning while he was checking the radiation levels.  
  
“ _Hey, D_ ,” she said. “ _Are you listening to the radio?_ ”  
  
“Not at the moment,” he said.  
  
“ _Turn it on_ ,” she said. “ _There’s been another arrest_.”  
  
“Another arrest?” he said. “Are you serious?”  
  
He rested the Geiger counter on the table and reached for the radio. The DJ’s voice was obscured with static until he adjusted the antenna.  
  
“— _around Golden Valley_ ,” the DJ said. “ _I still don’t know what the hell’s going on, to be honest with you. Apparently the Dracs just up and carried this guy off_ …”  
  
“What the hell is going on with these Dracs?” Dr. Death said.  
  
“ _I’m hearing that this guy was planning to storm the city_ ,” Newsie said.  
  
“Friends with the other guy?”  
  
“ _Probably_ ,” she said. “ _Someone must have tipped off the city about it_.”  
  
“Maybe they’re watching the airwaves,” Dr. Death said.  
  
She laughed. “ _If that was true, we’d be long gone_ ,” she said.  
  
“Well, maybe they’re biding their time,” he said, opening a water bottle. “Waiting for the right time to arrest us.”  
  
“ _I don’t think so_ ,” she said.  
  
But for the rest of the day, as he cleaned the house, worked in the garden, helped Newsie pluck birds, and checked his radio equipment for malfunctions, the story lingered in his mind. When Pony returned from a trip to town to pick up supplies, he reported that everyone was talking about the arrest. A few people were planning to lock up their businesses and lie low for a few days. Some wondered if they should leave town altogether.  
  
“You know, I’d never say this on the radio, but I’m starting to wonder if the first guy they arrested is the one that sold him out,” Dr. Death said as he and Pony sat around the fire that night. “Maybe they got information out of him.”  
  
Pony prodded the fire with a poker. The twigs shifted and crumbled. “I don’t think so, D,” he said.  
  
“You don’t?”  
  
“I don’t think this guy was planning anything until his buddy got arrested.”  
  
“Well, you never know,” Dr. Death said. “Maybe he’s got a track record.”  
  
Pony shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s all just a coincidence,” he added in a sing-song voice.  
  
“Do you really believe that?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
Dr. Death laughed. “Neither do I,” he said. “I just hope it’s not someone out here that’s pulling the strings.”  
  
Pony pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on his hands. Dr. Death grabbed the poker and held it like a staff, tapping it against the ground, then looked up at the sky. Tiny sparks swirled and danced in the wind.  
  
\---  
  
A third arrest. Dr. Death and Newsie sat in Newsie’s communication room, watching the report on one of the TV screens. An eleven-year-old girl in Zone Two had been arrested for helping smuggle batteries out of the city. The black-and-white surveillance footage showed the girl kicking and screaming as the Dracs hauled her to the car. Dr. Death felt a cold sense of dread, as if some vague evil lurked in the future.  
  
“We’ve gotta warn these kids,” Dr. Death said. “There’s no way this is a coincidence. They must have an informant somewhere.”  
  
“I think we need to work on finding this informant,” Newsie said. She clasped her coffee mug between her hands.  
  
“What are we going to do?” Dr. Death said. “We can’t go around interrogating people.”  
  
“No, but we can do some research,” she said, taking a sip. “See what connects all these people together.”  
  
“They’re doing something illegal. That’s what connects them.”  
  
“Isn’t it interesting that most of them were involved in the black market?” she said.  
  
“Not all of them. The second arrest wasn’t.”  
  
“No, but most of them were,” she said. She set the mug on the desk. “I think it’s someone in the market. Maybe the city’s giving them supplies in exchange for information.”  
  
“Well, if it’s someone in the market, Tom might be in a lot of trouble,” Dr. Death said. He sat up in his seat and reached for his transmitter. “I better call him and tell him about this.”  
  
“He’s not smuggling supplies, is he?” Newsie said.  
  
“No, but he’s got a lot of connections,” Dr. Death said. “I don’t want him getting roped into this.”  
  
Something buzzed nearby. Chow Mein jumped, his heart racing. DJ looked around wildly. Suddenly he realized that his transmitter was buzzing inside the car. A wave of relief washed over him as he opened the door and found it vibrating on the dashboard.  
  
“Hello?” he said wearily.  
  
“Hey, man,” Dr. Death said. “It’s D. Are you busy?”  
  
“Not immediately,” he said.  
  
“All right, can you swing by the house? I need to talk to you about something.”  
  
Chow Mein paused, gazing at the sight in front of him. “I’ll be there,” he said.  
  
“All right. I’ll see you then.”  
  
The call ended. Chow Mein stowed the transmitter inside his jacket, then turned back to the massive structure. His hands felt tingly and numb. DJ stared at the structure, open-mouthed and transfixed.  
  
The skull of a massive android was half-buried in the ground. The domed skull was as large as a hill, with two black eye sockets like cavern entrances. Thick wires as wide as DJ’s shoulders spilled out of the gaping mouth. Four sharp-pointed claws jutted out of the sand, as if the enormous hand were trying to claw its way out of the dirt. The structure seemed impossibly huge, like an alien god that had fallen out of the sky.  
  
DJ started toward it, but Chow Mein raised his hand. “No!” he said. “Don’t go near it. It might be full of radiation.”  
  
“I’ll get the meter,” she said. She grabbed a handheld Geiger counter from the glove compartment and slowly approached the android. “It’s safe,” she said after a few moments. She held up the meter so he could see that the readout hadn’t changed.  
  
“I don’t care,” Chow Mein said. “I don’t trust it. It’s probably a weapon.”  
  
“There’s no way it’s still active,” DJ said. “It looks like it’s been here for decades.”  
  
Rust patches and spindly cracks crawled along the structure like vines. Birds fluttered and tweeted on top of the skull. A nest must have been built inside one of the eye sockets, because two birds fluttered in and out of the cavern.  
  
DJ slowly approached the android. Chow Mein folded his arms and held his breath. She reached out and touched the chrome plating. Her face glowed with an almost childlike wonder.  
  
“I wish I could climb inside,” she said. “See what kind of tech’s inside there.”  
  
“I wouldn’t do that,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Oh, I know,” she said. “But it must be incredible old technology. Can you imagine what it would take to keep a ‘droid this size running?”  
  
She patted the surface before stepping away. The birds twittered angrily at her. One of them flew off and perched on the tip of one of the jagged claws.  
  
After dropping DJ off at her house, Chow Mein drove to Dr. Death’s property. Pony opened the door when he arrived, then brisked off without speaking to him. Dr. Death was waiting in the kitchen. Chow Mein sat down at the table, his expression distant. The android was still at the forefront of his mind.  
  
“Tom, have you been listening to the radio?” Dr. Death said.  
  
“I heard there was another arrest,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Yup,” Dr. Death said. “Girl smuggling batteries in Zone Two. Have they been talking about it around the market?”  
  
“I haven’t been to the market,” Chow Mein said. “I’ve been chasing connections all day.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Dr. Death said. “Well, Newsie and I were talking. We think that maybe you should step back from the black market.”  
  
“Step back?” he said. “Why?”  
  
“They seem to be targeting people involved with the market,” Dr. Death said. “I know you’re not stealing or smuggling, but you’re still pretty involved with this shit. I don’t want to see you being the next arrest.”  
  
“You know that I can’t just cut ties and leave,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“I’m not saying that. Just lie low for a couple of weeks.”  
  
He rubbed his eyes. “Lie low, what does that mean?”  
  
“I don’t know. Don’t sell pills. Don’t talk to certain people. Stay away from the major stuff.”  
  
Chow Mein laughed quietly. “Steve, I don’t think you understand how the market works,” he said.  
  
“Well, is it worth getting arrested?” Dr. Death said. “Because if it’s worth it to you, then by all means, keep fucking around with the black market.”  
  
“I risk arrest every day,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Yeah. I know. I’m just saying. I don’t want to get a call from Newsie one day saying you’ve been dragged off to the city.”  
  
Chow Mein was silent for a few moments. “I’m more concerned about what Kristan and I just found in the desert,” he said finally.  
  
“What is it?” Dr. Death said.  
  
“An associate of mine told me about a pile of scrap metal in the Painted Valley,” Chow Mein said. “Kristan and I drove there, expecting an old trash heap.” He crackled his knuckles. “It’s not scrap metal. It’s a massive android lying abandoned in the valley.”  
  
“What the hell are you talking about?” Dr. Death said.  
  
Chow Mein handed him a Polaroid that DJ had taken. Dr. Death took the photo and studied it, then stroked his beard. “This is just lying there?” he said. “No one’s guarding it or anything?”  
  
“No. The land was empty.”  
  
“It might be a weapon,” Dr. Death said.  
  
“That was my first thought,” Chow Mein said. “It’s certainly not a service ‘droid.”  
  
Dr. Death sighed and dropped the Polaroid on the table. “If word’s getting out about it, you know people are going to be driving up there, messing around, trying to take it apart for scrap,” he said. “I think somebody needs to keep an eye on it.”  
  
“I wouldn’t send someone to guard it,” Chow Mein said. “I don’t think it’s safe to live there.”  
  
“Newsie might be able to install cameras up there,” Dr. Death said. “If we see somebody messing around, I might call Cherri and have him run them off.”  
  
“You’re in contact with Cherri?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Yeah, I’ve talked to him a little since he got out of rehab,” Dr. Death said. “He’s living in a trailer park right now. He’s trying to get a job at a farm somewhere around here.”  
  
Chow Mein nodded. “Just make sure that someone keeps an eye on the android,” he said.  
  
“I will,” Dr. Death said. “Trust me. Nothing good ever comes from people snooping around old war machinery.”  
  
\---  
  
“Point the gun like this,” Dr. Death said, cocking his ray gun. “Yeah. That’s right. Now step back. You don’t want to get too close. I’ve seen people get themselves burned that way.”  
  
Tawny stepped back and aimed her gun at the pile of kindling. Her thick mane of curly hair fluttered around her shoulders in the breeze. “Like this?” she said.  
  
“Step back a little more,” Pony said.  
  
She took another step back, then cocked her gun again. “No, no,” Pony said. “Like this.” He adjusted her arm until it was positioned in the right direction. “There you go.”  
  
“That's it,” Dr. Death said. “All right, let 'er fire.”  
  
Tawny pulled the trigger. When the blast went off, she yelped and jumped back. The kindling sparked but didn’t ignite. The acrid smell of smoke rose from the fire pit.  
  
“Try again,” Dr. Death said. “Maybe turn up the power a little.”  
  
She adjusted the sliding switch, then spread her feet apart to hold her position. She aimed the gun again. “Like this?” she said.  
  
“Yeah. That's right. Now fire again.”  
  
She fired again. With a burst of light, the kindling ignited. A small fire started crackling in the center, slowly spreading across the twigs. Pony cheered, hugging her from the side. Tawny beamed as if she’d discovered the trick herself.  
  
“Can we start breakfast now?” she said.  
  
“Yeah, go ahead,” Dr. Death said. While she and Pony hurried back to the shack, Dr. Death grabbed the poker and nudged the twigs around. The flames spread across the remaining twigs and grew into a crackling fire.  
  
As Pony and Tawny rustled around in the kitchen, a blue pick-up truck pulled up to the house. Dust billowed around its wheels. Dr. Death squinted to see Dusty in the driver’s seat. Moonbeam hopped out of the truck and darted up to the campfire, the engine still running. A rolled-up map was tucked under her arm.  
  
“Hey!” she said. “Doc! Do you know about the Wireheads?”  
  
“The who?” he said. “The Wireheads? Yeah, I think I’ve heard of them.”  
  
“Okay,” she said. “We’ve been talking and we think they might have been involved in the arrests.” She unfolded the  map in front of him. Four areas were circled in red. “This is where they live,” she said, jabbing her finger at the middle circle. “As you can see, most of the arrests happened around that spot. _And,_ they were in contact with that girl selling batteries the night before she was arrested. We called one of her friends and that’s what she said.”  
  
She looked at him for approval. Dr. Death sighed and tapped the end of the poker against the ground.  
  
“Kid, I've got mixed feelings about you getting wrapped up in this,” he said.  
  
“We're just trying to figure out who's doing it,” she said. “I mean, do you want them to keep arresting people?”  
  
“No, but I think this situation is too dangerous for you. And for another thing, I don’t want to start firing off accusations at anyone who might tangentially be involved.”  
  
Her expression went flat. “Is this because you're friends with that salesman?” she said.  
  
“Oh, for Christ's sake,” Dr. Death said. “Are people suspecting him already?”  
  
“People are just asking questions,” she said. “That’s all. Maybe some people think it’s a little weird that he dresses like he’s from the city all the time.”  
  
“All right, I’ll tell you what I tell everybody every time this comes around,” Dr. Death said. “I’ve known him since he was twenty-one. He has always acted like this. He has always worn suits. He’s always been direct with people. That’s just how he is. For God’s sake, he is not a double agent for the city.”  
  
“Okay, okay,” Moonbeam said, folding the map. “I just thought you wanted to see this.”  
  
“Kid, don’t worry yourselves about this,” Dr. Death said. “It’s not your responsibility. You’re young. Just focus on your gang.”  
  
“Kind of hard to focus when everyone’s getting arrested,” she muttered.  
  
“You’re not going to get arrested. You’re not doing anything illegal. Now go on. Don’t worry yourselves about this.”  
  
Moonbeam sighed and stuffed the map in her back pocket. She marched back to the truck without saying goodbye. Pony and Tawny returned as the truck drove away, carrying pots and pans and a bag of white beans.  
  
“Who was that?” Pony said.  
  
“The Lunar kids again,” Dr. Death said. “Moonbeam thought they had a lead on this whole arrest thing.”  
  
Pony raised his eyebrows. “Did they?” he said.  
  
“Not even close,” Dr. Death said. “Tawny, here’s something else you need to know about. Don’t make snap judgments unless it’s a life-or-death situation. When somebody makes an accusation out here, it spreads like wildfire.”  
  
“Is that true?” Tawny said to Pony.  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Pony said. “You say one thing, and it’s all over the airwaves. People are not shy about airing out everyone’s business.”  
  
Tawny nodded faintly, then helped Pony pour the dried beans into a pot. Dr. Death toyed with the poker and cradled his head in his hand. The pick-up truck had left black streaks on the highway, trailing after the wheels like black ribbons.


	26. Chapter 26

As the week went on, Newsie heard reports of a Draculoid sighting somewhere in Zone One. But there were no arrests. After another week, people started to hope that the wave of arrests was over. They re-opened their businesses and started driving to town for supplies again. Dr. Death resumed the usual broadcasts. The stories and rumors on the waves had almost died down completely when Pony returned to the house one morning and announced that a girl had been arrested for transporting black market supplies.  
  
Dr. Death grabbed his transmitter from the kitchen counter. “Hey, it’s me,” he said. “Did you hear about this girl that was just arrested?”   
  
“ _I just heard about it_ ,” Newsie said. “ _I was actually just about to call you_.”  
  
“What the hell are we going to do?” Dr. Death said. “We can’t keep going on like this.”  
  
“ _I don’t know_ ,” she said. “ _But we’ve actually got another issue on our hands. I’ve been watching someone wandering around that android_.”  
  
“The one out in the Painted Valley? Are you serious?”  
  
There was a tapping sound in the background. “ _I’ve been watching this guy for about five minutes_ ,” she said. “ _He’s just stalking around the area. I don’t recognize him_.”  
  
“I’ll call Cherri,” Dr. Death said. “Tell him to run him off.”  
  
After telling Pony to start the truck, Dr. Death radioed Cherri’s frequency. “Hey, Cherri,” he said. “It’s Dr. D. Are you there?”  
  
No answer. “Hey,” he said again. “Cherri. Are you there? Pick up, kid.”  
  
No response. He sighed and switched off the transmitter, then stowed it in his jacket pocket. He wheeled outside, where the truck was waiting in front of the entrance, the engine rumbling.  
  
Throughout the rest of the day, they tracked the story as it unfolded: the arrest, the sudden buzz of activity on the radio waves, the Battery City news report, rumors of a trial date. The usual plans of storming Battery City circulated the waves, but Dr. Death knew they would fizzle out. He and Newsie discussed lying low, cutting off the broadcasts for a week, even possibly relocating. As the day went on, Dr. Death repeatedly called Cherri, but heard no answer.  
  
“I’m starting to get a little worried about this,” he told Newsie after the fourth attempt. “I don’t want to switch on the radio and hear that the Soldiers for Peace just exterminated a bunch of Dracs.”  
  
Newsie stirred her coffee. Her kitchen was a tiny, cramped room with a single light strung from the ceiling. The oven was stained with grease and rust. Patches of wallpaper were peeling near the ceiling.  
  
“Maybe you should try calling the trailer park,” she said. She blew on the coffee, then took a sip and winced at the taste.  
  
“Yeah, might as well give it a shot,” Dr. Death said. “But I doubt they know much more than we do.”  
  
She brought him a battered copy of the most recent Zone Directory. He flipped through it, then leaned back in the chair and found the trailer park’s frequency. “Hello?” he said. “Yeah, this is Dr. Death Defying. I’m a friend of Cherri Cola’s. I don’t know if you remember me, I visited a few times. I’ve been trying to reach him, but he’s not picking up.”  
  
The owner sighed. “ _You’re looking for him too, huh?_ ” she said.  
  
“What? Cherri. Yeah. Did he disappear on you?”  
  
“ _He just got up and left a few weeks ago_ ,” she said. “ _He left the trailer. Left everything but his car_.”  
  
_Shit,_ Dr. Death thought. “Did he say where he was going?”  
  
“ _He didn’t. I can’t even give you a forwarding number. We just woke up one day and he was gone_.”  
  
“You sure he’s not just holed up in his trailer?”  
  
“ _He’s not. Believe me, we checked_.”  
  
“All right,” Dr. Death said. “Thank you.” He switched off the transmitter and dropped it on the table. “Goddammit,” he said. “He’s probably off running with the Soldiers for Peace right now.”  
  
Newsie’s expression was solemn. “So Cherri’s gone missing?” she said.  
  
“Yup. God, I was afraid this was going to happen.”  
  
“Are you sure he ran off with the Soldiers?” she said over her mug.  
  
“No, but it seems pretty likely,” he said. “Especially after these arrests. They probably called him up and re-recruited him.”  
  
Newsie opened her mouth as if she were about to speak, then stopped. Her eyes flickered away for a moment. Finally, she set the mug down and took a breath.  
  
“D, do you ever wonder if Tom is involved in this?” she said.  
  
Dr. Death groaned. “All right, here we go,” he said.  
  
“He hates Cherri, doesn’t he?”  
  
“He doesn’t hate him,” Dr. Death said.  
  
“Well, they’re certainly not friends, are they?”  
  
“So what, you think he’s turning people in?” Dr. Death said. “You think he’s getting rid of everyone he doesn’t like?”  
  
“No, but I think there’s a possible connection to his visit from the ‘Crows—”  
  
“Oh, come on,” Dr. Death said. “That was two years ago.”  
  
“We don’t know what they said to him.”  
  
“If that’s true, then why is he acting now?” he said. “Why wouldn’t he do something then, when they first talked to him?”  
  
“I don’t know,” she said. “But you know they’re not above brainwashing people. I know this is extreme, D, but maybe he’s turning people in and doesn’t even know he’s doing it—”  
  
“I don’t believe that,” Dr. Death said. “Christ. I’m sorry, but every time something happens, people immediately accuse him because they don’t like the way he dresses, or they don’t like the way he talks—”  
  
“But you don’t think he acts a little suspicious?”  
  
“No! I’ve told you this, Meiko, I’ve known him for years. That’s just how he is. I’m not saying he can’t be a bit of an asshole sometimes, but he’s not selling people out to the city. That’s not like him.”  
  
Newsie’s face showed that she wasn’t convinced. Dr. Death sighed and grabbed his transmitter.  
  
“All right, do you want me to call him?” he said. “I’ll ask him to come over and you can talk to him.”  
  
“I’m not sure if I want him here,” she said into her mug.  
  
“Meiko.”  
  
“Fine. Call him.”  
  
Dr. Death radioed his frequency. “Hey, man,” he said. “It’s me. How busy are you right now?”  
  
“Very,” Chow Mein said. He marched out of the library with an empty box tucked under his arm, blinking in the blinding sunlight. He yanked the car door open and dropped the box in the backseat.  
  
“ _Newsie wants to talk to you. Can you swing by the house sometime when you’re done?_ ”  
  
“Steve, I’m scheduled until eight P.M.”  
  
“ _After that’s fine_ ,” Dr. Death said.  
  
He sank into the driver’s seat. “What does she want to talk to me about?” he said.  
  
“ _She just wants to talk to you about the arrests_ ,” Dr. Death said.  
  
“Why?” Chow Mein said. “Does she think I’m involved?”  
  
“ _I don’t want to get into it over the waves_ ,” he said. “ _Just swing by if you get the chance._ ”  
  
Chow Mein shook his head as he started the engine. He was backing out onto the street when his transmitter buzzed again. He sighed and parked on the side of the road, then picked up the transmitter. “Hello?” he said.  
  
“ _Yeah, hey_ ,” said a female voice. “ _Are you Tommy Chow Mein?_ ”  
  
“Yes ma’am,” he said, resting his arm on the steering wheel.  
  
“ _We’ve got some old clothes that we want you to take a look at. Can you come over here?_ ”  
  
“Where are you?”  
  
“ _We’re just outside of Sunburst, like two miles past the old motel_.”  
  
He glanced at the clock. “All right, I’ve got ten minutes,” he said. “Make sure it’s out when I get there.”  
  
“ _Can do_.”  
  
He rubbed a hand across his face, then switched gears and backed out onto the highway. He drove through Sunburst and past the old motel until he reached the empty desert that surrounded the town. After driving a few miles, a settlement of tents appeared like large mushrooms growing out of the sand. He parked on the side of the highway and stepped out. A teenage boy in a purple jacket was waiting to greet him.  
  
The boy flashed him a quick smile and shook his hand. “Hey,” he said. “I’m Dusty. You want to come inside?”  
  
He followed Dusty into one of the tents. A stack of folded clothes rested on one of the sleeping bags. The other was occupied by a girl with white-blonde hair who was trying to repair the broken strap on one of her sandals. A flag with a round purple symbol hung on one of the tent walls. An unused generator was stashed under a table with a tray-like surface that was heaped with their supplies.  
  
When the girl looked up, her face went white. Chow Mein instantly recognized the look as apprehension, and realization hit him like a burst of energy. He whipped out his ray gun and turned around. Stumbling back, he caught the barrel of an old-fashioned pistol. A wave of fear hit him so intensely that he almost felt nauseated.  
  
“Yeah,” Dusty said. “That’s right. Sit down.”  
  
The girl snatched the ray gun out of his hands. He shakily sat down in the chair in the middle of the tent. Dusty aimed the gun at him, his mouth twisting with anger, then paced around to the other side of the chair.  
  
“What the hell did you do with that girl?” he said.  
  
“Excuse me?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“You know what I’m talking about. That girl who was arrested today. What do you know about that?”  
  
“I’m not involved in this,” he said.  
  
“Yeah, bullshit you aren’t. You know how many people have suspected your ass since the beginning?”  
  
Dusty grabbed him by the hair and pressed the barrel of the gun against his throat. He tried to pull away, but Dusty forced him to hold still. “Let me tell you something,” Dusty said in a low voice. “The only reason you’re still alive is that we’ve still got a few other suspects. If we knew it was you, you would’ve been dead when you entered this tent.”  
  
Dusty released him. He winced and pulled away, rubbing his neck. The familiar panic welled up inside him like water overflowing from a spring.  
  
“You know that’s it not a coincidence that most of these people are suppliers,” Dusty said. “What are you doing, eliminating the competition?”  
  
“Those people weren’t competition,” Chow Mein said. “If anything, I would have worked with these people.”  
  
“Yeah. Bullshit. I know how the market works, man. Gotta be the top supplier.”  
  
“There is no top supplier,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Then who the hell are you?” he said. “Because it seems to me like you’ve got your hands in everything, and now the people who might get close to you are starting to disappear.”  
  
“For Christ’s sake—I never dealt with these people. I wouldn’t drive up to Zone Two just to buy batteries.”  
  
Dusty laughed. “Yeah. Sure you wouldn’t.” He paced around the chair, holding the gun at his side. “I’ve got another question for you. Why do you talk like a fucking android all the time?”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Yeah. There it is. You sound like a worker ‘droid. You know how realistic they can make them nowadays?”  
  
“I’ve lived out here for thirteen years,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Yeah. Whatever.”  
  
He gestured toward the girl, who handed him a pocketknife. Dusty tucked the pistol in the waistband of his jeans, then flicked open the pocketknife, handling it almost lovingly. Chow Mein flinched back, his adrenaline racing. Dusty grabbed his wrist and forced him to hold steady as he cut across the palm of his hand. Blood welled to the surface, along with a sharp, stinging pain.  
  
“Not an android,” the girl said. Chow Mein recognized her voice as the one he’d heard on the radio.  
  
Dusty handed her the pocketknife without another word. “We’re going to find out what’s going on,” he said to Chow Mein. “Even if it takes all day. You’re not getting out of here until we know the truth.”  
  
Chow Mein’s hands shook as he clutched the wound. Sticky blood trickled down his wrist.  
  
As the afternoon wore on, Dusty questioned and threatened him, stopping only to answer calls on his transmitter. Chow Mein caught snatches of updates about other suspects that the gang was holding hostage. Heat boiled inside the tent. Dusty shrugged off his jacket and tugged on the tent walls to get the air flowing. Once he sent the girl outside to find water. When she returned, he immediately gulped down half the bottle, then slammed it on the table with the rest of their supplies.  
  
Eventually, Dusty started to grow more agitated. He paced back and forth, spat arguments into his transmitter, and shouted threats. The girl rarely spoke, but Chow Mein thought that he occasionally saw a flicker of fear in her eyes. A constant current of panic ran through his body like humming electricity. Whenever Dusty took out the gun, fear ripped through him like a gush of ice water. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to run, but the sight of the pistol kept him frozen in place.  
  
“I’m really getting sick of this bullshit!” Dusty said after another call. “We’ve been questioning these assholes all day, but every time I get a call, nobody knows shit!”  
  
“Maybe it’s someone else,” Moonbeam said, drawing her shoulders in.  
  
Dusty swore and threw the transmitter on the table. “If we don’t get an answer soon, I swear to God, I’m driving him out to the hills,” he said. “I know he’s part of this.”  
  
Moonbeam lowered her eyes. Dusty rounded on him, holding the gun loosely at his side. “What do you think?” he said. “You feel like taking a ride to the hills?”  
  
Chow Mein’s hands were stained with dried blood. He looked up at Dusty, a shadowy expression on his face.  
  
“You could kill me,” he said. “But it won’t give you what you’re looking for.”  
  
Dusty gave a short, hard laugh. He grabbed the bottle and gulped down the rest of the water, then shook his head as he wiped his mouth, spraying water like a dog.  
  
\---  
  
Night had fallen when Dr. Death and Pony pulled up to the veteran’s camp. Several figures were silhouetted around the campfire. Tim stood up and squinted through the headlights, then hurried over and helped Dr. Death out of the truck. A radio murmured nearby. Tim grabbed a flashlight and led them over to the tents, the steel poles glinting in the light.  
  
“How much did he tell you on the radio?” Tim said.  
  
“Not very much,” Pony said. “He just said that someone else confessed.”  
  
“Yeah. Some guy named Jamie. One of those gang members shot him. The city’s probably going to throw them all in jail for it.”  
  
Tim unzipped one of the tents and gestured for them to head inside. Chow Mein looked up from his suitcase. The tent was dimly lit by a lantern on a card table. When he closed the suitcase, Dr. Death noticed that his left hand was bandaged. He thought of the days after his last encounter with Cherri, when his right hand and wrist were tightly bandaged.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Tom,” Dr. Death said wearily.  
  
Chow Mein shook his head. “Don’t apologize,” he said.  
  
“Eh, I knew these kids were suspecting you,” he said. “I should have said something. Or I should’ve tried to talk them out of it.”  
  
“You did try to talk them out of it,” Pony said.  
  
“Yeah, but it clearly wasn’t good enough,” he said. He coughed and cleared his throat, then nodded toward the bandage on his hand. “What happened to your hand?”  
  
Chow Mein glanced at the bandage. “It’s just a cut,” he said. “Dusty wanted to prove that I wasn’t an android.”  
  
Dr. Death laughed weakly. “You’re not, are you?” he said.  
  
“Not that I’m aware of.”  
  
He laughed again and patted his arm. “Man, I’m glad you made it out of there alive,” he said. “I had my doubts about that Dusty kid, but I never thought he’d be pointing a gun at your head.”  
  
“Nobody thought it would lead to this, D,” Pony said.  
  
“Yeah, well. Maybe I should’ve seen it coming.”  
  
Dr. Death spent the rest of the night calling Newsie and listening to the radio. After a while, he managed to gather the rest of the story: one gang member named Moon Walker had been killed in the shoot-out. Moonbeam, Dusty, and several friends had been arrested and taken to the city. The black market supplier, Jamie, had admitted to working with the city in exchange for supplies. One of the gang members had shot him after he called the Dracs.  
  
One-by-one, the other veterans headed for bed until only Dr. Death remained sitting in front of the fire. The flames glowed and pulsated like a beating heart in the center of the desert. The singing insects nearly drowned out the crackling of the fire. He tossed another bundle of twigs onto the dying embers, then sank back in his seat. A chill lurked behind him, just outside the range of the fire.  
  
Footsteps crunched on the dry grasses. “It’s just me,” Pony said quickly when he turned around. He wrapped his arms around Dr. Death’s shoulders from behind. “ _Brrr!_ ” he said. “You’re so chilly, D.”  
  
“Yeah, I know I should head inside,” Dr. Death said. “Why aren’t you asleep?”  
  
“I’ve been listening to the radio,” Pony said. “Making a bunch of calls.”  
  
“Who have you been calling?”  
  
“Everyone,” Pony said. He took a breath, his breath fogging in the air. “I’ve got some news for you, D.”  
  
“What is it?”  
  
He held up his transmitter. “I found Cherri.”  
  
\---  
  
Dr. Death and Pony pulled up to the crumbling shack. A mirror hung from the roof, reflecting the desert in front of the property. Tattered floral sheets covered the windows. Dr. Death knocked on the door and waited. No answer. He knocked again, then tugged on the doorknob. The door rattled in its frame but wouldn’t open.  
  
“Don’t tell me they’re not here,” Dr. Death said. “You think they’re out back?”  
  
“They probably are,” Pony said. “I bet they’re all sprawled out on the ground, taking in the sun.”  
  
They headed to the back of the shack, where a muddy lake stretched out beneath the sun. Lawn chairs were scattered around the lake. Most of the chairs were empty except for one, which held a woman with strawlike hair and pinched, flaming red skin, like a boiled crab. A stained mattress sat near the edge of the lake. Dr. Death recognized the figure on the mattress before they started to approach.  
  
Cherri was sprawled out on the mattress. Hot pink burns and blisters inflamed his skin. The dog tags still hung around his neck. He lay unconscious with his mouth open, flies buzzing around his face. For an instant, Dr. Death thought he was dead until he saw the steady rise and fall of his chest.  
  
Pony darted over to the lake and scooped up a handful of water. He ran back to the mattress, the water dripping on the sand, and splashed it on Cherri’s face. Cherri jolted to life as if he’d touched a live wire. He stumbled to his feet, shaking and jerking violently, then staggered back and nearly tripped over the mattress. His eyes were red and irritated as if they’d been rubbed with sand. He looked around wildly, his breathing hard and frantic.  
  
“Grab your shit, Cherri,” Dr. Death said. “We're getting out of here.”  
  
“What the hell are you doing?” Cherri said. His voice was hoarse.  
  
“We’re not leaving you here in this hellhole. Come on. Go grab your stuff. Do you have anything, or did you leave it all at the camp?”  
  
Cherri looked at him blearily. Suddenly his face broke out into a mirthless smile. He clapped Dr. Death on the shoulders. “So you’re breaking me out of here?” he said. “Is that it?”  
  
“Come on, Cherri,” Pony said. “We don’t have all day. Do you still have your car? Did you sell it?”  
  
“I sold it,” Cherri said. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “Look, I know what you guys are trying to do, and I appreciate it, but…I can’t go back with you.”  
  
“Yeah, you can,” Dr. Death said. “Don’t start making excuses for yourself.”  
  
“I can’t do that,” Cherri said. “I can’t just go back with you and live a normal life. I don’t deserve that, man.”  
  
“Cherri, there’s no such thing as deserving or not deserving,” Dr. Death said. “The universe doesn’t give a shit what you do. You made your choices, you did what you thought was right at the time. That’s it. It’s over and done with. Sitting here and dying of skin cancer isn’t going to change that.”  
  
“I can’t just go back and pretend that everything’s normal,” Cherri said. “I mean, it’s everywhere I look, man. Everything I’ve done. I’ve been on every road, I’ve tracked down Dracs in every settlement. I can’t escape what I did.”  
  
“I’m not asking you to escape it,” Dr. Death said. “But you throwing away your life isn’t going to make things right, either. I’ve known some people who did some fucked-up things in the wars, and they went through shit similar to you. But eventually they realized that what’s done is done. It’s over. You can’t sacrifice yourself for them. Sacrificing yourself doesn’t do shit, Cherri. It doesn’t bring them back.”  
  
“I just can’t go on, D,” Cherri said quietly.  
  
“All right, look at it this way,” he said. “You say you can’t make up for what you did. Maybe that’s true. But you can’t make up for it by sitting here and wasting your life away, either. If you come back with us, you can help people. I know guys in the wars who went into therapy. A couple of them became medics. They’re out there saving lives now.”  
  
Cherri smiled humorlessly. “I can’t help anyone,” he said. His eyes were wet with tears.  
  
“It’s going to be okay, Cherri,” Pony said, taking his hands.  
  
“Let’s go, man,” Dr. Death said. “We’re not leaving you here.”  
  
A tear rolled down Cherri’s face. He wiped it off with the palm of his hand. Pony patted him on the back, then led him away from the muddy lake. The stench of sweat clung to Cherri’s clothes. The woman in the chair stirred faintly, then rolled over to the side, her stringy hair spilling over the side of the chair.


	27. Chapter 27

**2009**  
  
Cherri hauled a washtub into the kitchen. He locked the doors and closed the curtains, then poured a jug of lukewarm water into the tub. He stripped off his clothes and climbed inside, wincing at his cramped position. He scrubbed his body with a sliver of soap. The air hit his wet skin, giving him a pleasantly cool feeling. He crouched over the tub to scrub his hair, then wrung it out like laundry.  
  
After he dried himself off and changed into clean clothes, he heard familiar voices outside. He pushed back the curtains, then stopped. Dr. Death and Chow Mein were talking outside. Chow Mein seemed to be writing something for him. Suddenly he stopped and clutched his wrist, then shook it as if he were trying to shake out a cramp. Cherri drew back. He shut the curtains, then lifted the washtub and dumped it out behind the house.  
  
When Dr. Death returned to the kitchen, Cherri was grinding old mesquite beans into flour. He pushed his hair back from his face and smiled. A streak of grey hair was tucked behind his ear.  
  
“Hey, man,” he said. “How’s it going?”  
  
“Not too bad,” Dr. Death said. “You making dinner already?”  
  
“Just about,” Cherri said, turning the crank on the seed grinder. “Do you guys want toast tonight?”  
  
“Eh, I’m getting burned out on toast.”  
  
“What about cornbread?”  
  
“That’ll work.”  
  
Cherri grabbed a tin of cornmeal from the cabinet, then winced when he peered inside. “We’re almost out,” he said. “I think we’ve got just enough for tonight.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Dr. Death said. “Tom’s bringing over some more tomorrow night.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Cherri said. He smiled faintly, but his eyes were distant.  
  
“Yeah, he’s actually about to open a store in a few days,” Dr. Death said. “He got his hands on an old motel about eight miles outside of town.” He tapped his fingertips against the tabletop. “He’s looking for help right now. DJ’s been busy ever since she started working with Live Wire and his gang.”  
  
Cherri nodded as he mixed the ingredients together. He cracked an egg over the bowl.  
  
Dr. Death sighed. “Cherri, I think you should talk to him,” he said.  
  
Cherri smiled sadly. “I don’t think he wants to talk to me,” he said, pouring the batter into a pan.  
  
“Eh, I don’t think he’d mind seeing you again,” Dr. Death said. “I’ve been telling him about your recovery.”  
  
“Well, since the last time I saw him I was threatening to slit his throat, I don’t think he’d be too happy if he saw me.”  
  
“He’s seen you plenty of times around the house.”  
  
Cherri gave a weak laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “We look at each other, then glance away.”  
  
“Cherri, man, all you need to do is talk to him,” he said. “If you do that, it’ll melt the ice a little.”  
  
Cherri looked away, wiping his hands on a towel. He grabbed his ray gun and headed outside. Dr. Death followed behind him. The shrubs were grey and brambly, the sky blotted out with a grey mass of clouds. The air was cool and crisp. Cherri gathered twigs with soldier-like efficiency, then stepped back and fired his gun at the bundle. The kindling caught spark immediately.  
  
“Look, I’m not going to force it,” Dr. Death said. “But if you get the chance, I think you should drive up there sometime this week. Just try to talk to him. Maybe offer to help out.”  
  
“I’ll think about it,” Cherri said. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. The fire consumed the bundle of twigs and threw off waves of heat in the cool air.  
  
A few days later, Cherri drove to the address that Dr. Death had given him. An old motel sat off the highway. The trash and debris in the parking lot had been swept off into a pile. Cherri walked up to the front entrance with a crate tucked under his arm. He knocked on the door, then shifted from foot to foot, his skin pricking in the cold air.  
  
The door swung open. Cherri’s breath caught in his throat. Nothing had changed about Chow Mein’s appearance, but something seemed to be fundamentally different about the man he hadn’t seen face-to-face in three years. Chow Mein’s shocked expression quickly flattened to neutral.  
  
“What is it?” he said.  
  
“We’ve got some vegetables,” Cherri said. “D found them when we were cleaning out storage.”  
  
Chow Mein raised his eyebrows. “Are they edible?”  
  
“Oh!” Cherri said. “No, they’re fine. I know that sounded bad, but—no, they’re only a few months old. He just thought we could sell them. Maybe get some extra fuel money.”  
  
Chow Mein peered into the crate, then gestured for him to come inside, locking the door behind him. Crates and boxes were stacked around the floor. Empty shelves stood near the front desk. Chow Mein picked up the jars and turned them around, checking the dates, then waved a hand as if he were doing the math in his head.  
  
“I’ll give you eight carbons,” he said.  
  
“Yeah,” Cherri said. “That sounds great.”  
  
Chow Mein grabbed a lockbox from under the front counter. A lantern sat on the countertop, casting a shaky light. Cherri folded his arms and adjusted the scarf around his neck.  
  
“Eight carbons, you said?” he said.  
  
Chow Mein nodded without looking up as he counted the money.  
  
“Thank you,” Cherri said, taking the money. “Do you need any help getting set up?”  
  
“No, thank you,” Chow Mein said disinterestedly. He hefted the crate over to one of the empty shelves, then started lining the jars on the shelf. Cherri felt a pang of guilt when he momentarily winced and clutched his wrist.  
  
“Are you sure?” Cherri said. “I’ve got plenty of time, man. D and Pony left for the market up north. They won’t be back for a while.”  
  
Chow Mein shook his head. “Don’t tell anyone about this,” he said. “Not before it’s open. I don’t need anyone breaking in and stealing supplies.”  
  
“No, sir,” Cherri said.  
  
His tone indicated that Cherri should leave. But he remained standing in front of the desk, watching Chow Mein bustle around the room. Finally, he took a deep breath.  
  
“Tom, I need to apologize,” he said.  
  
Chow Mein stopped and turned around. From his expression, Cherri could tell that he had been expecting this.  
  
“I mean, I can’t apologize for what I did,” Cherri said, rubbing his eyes. “I know I did fucked-up things. I don’t know if D told you, but when he and Pony found me, I was a wavehead. I was trying to kill myself, basically. I thought I’d just lie out there and surf myself to death.”  
  
Chow Mein didn’t respond, but he held his gaze.  
  
“I’d do anything to go back and change everything,” Cherri said. “You have no idea. But I can’t do that. And I can’t make up for it, either. I’m just trying to survive day-by-day. I’ve been trying to help people out in town. Do volunteer work. Things like that.”  
  
“Has it helped you?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Yeah. I think so.” He wrapped his arms around himself. “I mean, nothing can ever make up for what I did, but…it’s all I can do. I just wanted to apologize to you, man. I know I dragged you into a lot of shit, and you still treated me better than I deserved.”  
  
“Thank you,” Chow Mein said.  
  
There was a note of finality in his voice. Cherri held his gaze for a moment, then took the empty crate from him and tucked it under his arm. “I guess I’ll see you around, man,” he said.  
  
Chow Mein nodded. Cherri took one last look around the store before heading outside. After the dim lighting of the store, the grey desert seemed starkly bright. A sharp breeze was starting to blow. He climbed into the car and started down the highway, framed by miles of brown grasses and hard, tangled shrubs.  
  
The next day, Dr. Death realized they were running low on water supplies. For the first time, he let Cherri make the call. After picking up the supplies, Cherri returned a few times to visit the store. By the end of the week, Chow Mein finally agreed to let him help out. He opened for business the following Monday. Cherri helped organize the shelves and talked to customers, asking one couple to leave when they threatened to graffiti one of the walls.  
  
As the days passed, Cherri returned regularly to help out at the store. He opened boxes, stocked the shelves, organized the back rooms, and helped the customers. Pony started to take over meal preparation, as Cherri often didn’t return until the early evening. Dr. Death smiled when Cherri talked about his day. For the first time in years, he glowed with a healthy energy. He exercised and ate heartily, unlike the earlier days when he’d picked at his food.  
  
One night, after working at the store for two weeks, Cherri swept the floor while Chow Mein counted up the sales for that evening. The air outside was cold and brisk. A few snowflakes had fallen earlier, but now the desert was bare. Cherri opened the door and swept out the sand and grit, then knocked the broom against the doorway.  
  
“Do you want me to come in tomorrow?” Cherri said, closing the door. “I’ll have to be back by six, but other than that, I’m free all day.”  
  
“That’ll be fine,” Chow Mein said without looking up. He held a strip of paper up to the light. While Cherri stowed the broom in the closet, he packed up the paperwork, then headed to the back door to check the parking lot. When he opened the door, a stench polluted the air. He looked down at the ground, then stepped back, clamping a hand over his mouth.  
  
A dead bird was splattered on the ground. Ants crawled around the twisted feathers. In an instant he flashed back to Louie’s body in the grass. The white plastic body bag had crinkled and gleamed in the sunlight. A foul stench had burst out of the bag like an exploding mushroom. He stumbled backward, feeling suddenly light-headed.  
  
“Tom?” Cherri said behind him. “What is it? What’s wrong?” He hurried up to the doorway, then winced. “Maybe a cat got it,” he said.  
  
“Just get it out of here,” Chow Mein said.  
  
Cherri grabbed a paper bag and scooped up the bird, then carried it out into the desert. A cold wind whipped around him. He dropped the bird in the grasses and hurried back to the store. Chow Mein was bent over the desk, holding the edge for support.  
  
“Hey,” Cherri said. “Tom. Are you okay, man?”  
  
He straightened and nodded. Without another word, he strode over to the back door.  
  
“A cat probably got it,” Cherri said again. “I’ve seen a couple of wild cats around here.”  
  
He nodded without looking up. His expression was shadowy. As he locked the door, Cherri started to suspect that there was another reason that Dr. Death had sent him to the shop.  
  
\---  
  
Cherri sat on the porch steps, stripping the spines off cactus pads. Dr. Death and Pony spoke quietly inside the kitchen. The sky was as clear and blue as a piece of china. The air was dry and windless, as if the chill had preserved the desert. Cherri sheathed off the last of the spines and climbed to his feet. When he opened the door, Dr. Death and Pony abruptly stopped talking. Pony’s expression was somber.  
  
Cherri stopped in the doorway. “Is everything okay?” he said.  
  
Dr. Death was silent for a moment. “I just got a call from the veterans’ camp,” he said. “Tim had a heart attack this morning. They sent the medics over, but it’s not looking good.”  
  
Cherri’s expression wilted. “Oh, no,” he said. “I’m so sorry, man.”  
  
“D and I are going to head up to the camp for a few days,” Pony said.  
  
“Yeah, that’s the plan,” Dr. Death said. “Do you think you’ll be okay by yourself?”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Cherri said. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”  
  
Dr. Death nodded. “You know where everything is, right?” he said. “Fuel, money, emergency supplies?”  
  
“Yeah. Totally.”  
  
“All right. If you run into any trouble, call Newsie. She’ll be here in like five minutes.”  
  
“She’s coming here now?”  
  
Dr. Death laughed quietly. “No. I mean, if you call her, she’ll get here as quick as possible.”  
  
“Oh. Yeah. Right.”  
  
After they ate breakfast, Cherri helped them pack up their supplies, then stood on the porch as they drove off. The truck’s taillights glowed bright red against the greyish-brown desert. The radio waves were quiet as Cherri drove to the store. A few people broadcasted news, but he guessed that most of the DJs were already at work. A stillness seemed to hang over the desert.  
  
When he arrived at the store, Chow Mein was scanning the outside of the building with a Geiger counter. He unlocked the front doors and followed Cherri inside. While he knocked down a spider web in the corner, Cherri straightened the cans on one of the shelves. _Power Pup_ was printed on the labels.  
  
“Do people still eat this stuff?” Cherri said, picking up one of the cans. “We used to have it when I was a kid.”  
  
“The dog food?” Chow Mein said. “Yes, it’s in high demand.”  
  
Cherri set it back on the shelf. “My mother used to bake it in casseroles,” he said. “She told everyone that we had a dog. We had rows of this stuff in the pantry.”  
  
“I think the city knows that people are eating it,” Chow Mein said. “They just pretend otherwise so they can keep manufacturing it cheaply.”  
  
The morning passed with only a few customers. Cherri helped a teenager find a sleeping bag, then rang up a canister of powdered milk. Frost glittered in the grasses outside. A woman in a mud-splattered yellow car dropped off a supply order. A pair of shiny black shoes were buried under a pile of clothes in the box. Cherri looked away when Chow Mein set the shoes on the counter.  
  
At noon, Chow Mein argued with a customer about the price of a bag of rice. Cherri managed to avoid it until the woman shouted at him from across the room. When she finally left, he retreated to one of the back rooms to organize supplies. He hung jackets on thin wire hangers, the wire cold and hard in the dry chill of the back rooms. As he carried the jackets to the main area, he noticed that the black shoes still sat on the counter.  
  
“Hey,” Cherri said, nodding toward the shoes. “Do you mind…”  
  
Chow Mein looked at him oddly until he saw the shoes. “Does it bother you?” he said.  
  
“Yeah. A little.”  
  
Without another word, Chow Mein tucked the shoes under the counter. Cherri felt faintly relieved as he hung the jackets on a rack near the entrance.  
  
A few more customers visited the store, bundled in flannel pants and scarves. Cherri sat on the ancient dumpster behind the store and ate a strip of beef jerky. Chow Mein knocked down another spider that was building its web near the doorway. A customer called and demanded a refund on a gritty hunk of soap. After the call, they worked in silence for a while, hearing nothing but the wind gusting outside the walls.  
  
Around two P.M., Chow Mein’s transmitter buzzed. “Hello?” he said.  
  
“ _Hey, Tom_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _Are you at the store?_ ”  
  
“Yes, I am,” he said.  
  
“ _Is Cherri with you?_ ”  
  
Chow Mein glanced over at him. “Yes, he is,” he said.  
  
“ _All right. Can you go to your office? There’s something I need to tell you_.”  
  
Chow Mein headed into the office. When the door closed, Cherri pressed his lips together. He folded clothes on the table while voices murmured behind the door. A few minutes later, Chow Mein strode out of the office and locked the front doors. He gestured for Cherri to follow him into the office. “You better sit down,” he said.  
  
Cherri sat in the chair in front of the desk. Chow Mein remained standing. Something about the gesture made a hard lump form in Cherri’s stomach.  
  
“Have you listened to the radio today?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Yeah, I listened to it this morning,” Cherri said.  
  
“But not in the last few hours?”  
  
“No, I haven’t.”  
  
He adjusted his sleeves. “All right,” he said. “Good. Steve thinks you should hear this from me.”  
  
Cherri’s stomach twisted. He rubbed the side of his neck.  
  
“A few hours ago, the city raided the Soldiers for Peace camp,” Chow Mein said. “Five of them were taken to the city. Three, I believe, were killed in the shootout. When the second unit arrived, the rest of them locked themselves in the house, and…” He mimed shooting himself in the head, as if it were difficult to say out loud. “They killed themselves.”  
  
Cherri didn’t respond. He stared at him blankly.  
  
“The names haven’t been released,” Chow Mein said. “Steve said we should know later tonight. He’s going to call as soon as he gets more information.”  
  
Cherri nodded, wiping his face with both hands. His eyes were dry. His insides felt numb, as if he were paralyzed.  
  
“Are you all right, Cherri?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Yeah,” Cherri said after a pause. “Yeah, I, uh…I think I’m okay.”  
  
Chow Mein nodded. Someone knocked on the front door. He glanced at Cherri one last time, then touched his shoulder before heading out. Cherri sat silently in the chair for a few minutes. Then he climbed to his feet and returned to the table, where he resumed folding the clothing. His expression was unreadable. His movements were almost mechanical, like an android.  
  
Throughout the rest of the shift, Chow Mein quietly kept an eye on Cherri. He straightened shelves and helped customers as if nothing had happened. But when he wasn’t busy, a shadow seemed to pass over his face. As the sun began to set, Chow Mein locked the back rooms and added up the sales. Cherri swept the sand off the floor and out onto the parking lot. The road appeared bluish in the evening light.  
  
Chow Mein locked the back door, then turned to see Cherri standing in the front doorway, gazing at the highway. Cherri turned around after a few moments. He raised his eyebrows almost apologetically, then headed for the closet. His face was expressionless.  
  
“Has D radioed you yet?” he said.  
  
“No, he hasn’t,” Chow Mein said.  
  
Cherri stood in front of the open closet, gripping the broom handle. The broom tilted forward as he leaned against it.  
  
“You know, when I was in rehab, I used to say that I’d get them out of there one day,” he said. “I thought I could talk people into leaving. Get them out of the camp.”  
  
“Cherri, they made their decision,” Chow Mein said quietly.  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Cherri said. His eyes were distant. He looked like he wanted to say more, but instead shook his head. He was silent as he followed Chow Mein outside. The moon had already appeared in the sky, hovering over the trees.  
  
“Well, I guess I’ll head home,” Cherri said faintly. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked up at the sky.  
  
“Who’s that woman that lives near your property?” Chow Mein said. “Newsie? Is that her name?”  
  
“Yeah. Newsie.”  
  
“Are you on good terms with her?”  
  
“Yeah. We all are.”  
  
“Call her before you get there,” he said as he unlocked his car. “See if you can stay at her house tonight.”  
  
Cherri looked away, smiling faintly. He reached out and gently touched his arm. Then he headed off to his car, humming quietly. Chow Mein watched him for a few moments, then climbed into his car and slammed the door. The sky was reflected in the side mirrors: a few dark clouds hovering over a pink-and-orange backdrop. Something ominous seemed to hang in the air. As he drove down the highway, the desert seemed eerily still and silent. Sunlight glowed behind the mountains like a light behind a stage prop.  
  
The sun had set when he reached his house. As he headed inside, the ominous feeling followed him like a stranger lurking around his property. He lit a lantern and sat down at the kitchen table. Something inside him prickled with discomfort. _Cherri is not your responsibility,_ he reminded himself. But he found himself unable to focus, his mind wandering back to Cherri’s car disappearing down the highway.  
  
Finally, he reached for his transmitter. “Hello?” he said. “Cherri? Are you there?”  
  
No reply. He tried a few more times, but heard nothing but static. He stood up and pushed back the curtains. The road outside was dark. He closed his eyes and folded his hands together as if he were praying, then grabbed his car keys and headed outside.  
  
Darkness shrouded the desert around him. Stars peered from behind the clouds. He drove to Dr. Death’s house and parked in front of the porch. The engine still humming, he carefully stepped outside. There were no lights inside the house. He grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment and walked around the house, but Cherri’s car was nowhere in sight. Frost glittered in the grasses. He stood in front of the porch, his mind racing.  
  
Suddenly he remembered Newsie. He didn’t have her call number, but Dr. Death had once told him how to reach her house in an emergency. He jumped back in the car and started the engine. The headlights swept over weeds and tall grasses. He scanned the area for landmarks as he drove: large trees, groups of cacti, a river that trickled off toward the north. Grey, brambly trees hung over the riverbank. A thin crust of ice covered the edges of the river.  
  
A light suddenly appeared near the river. As he drew closer, he realized that a car was parked in front of the riverbank. The interior lights were on, shining through the windows. The taillights glowed red. Leaning forward, he crept forward until he could make out the familiar outline of Cherri’s vehicle. Panic seized him like a hand gripping his throat. The front door was open with the light spilling out onto the grasses. He jumped out of the car, a chill washing over his body.  
  
Something was slumped over in the grasses like an animal. As he stepped forward, he saw that Cherri was collapsed on the ground, his legs trailing out of the car. A sudden wave of lightheadness hit him as if the blood had drained out of his body. _No, no, no,_ he thought frantically. He sank to the ground and scooped up Cherri as if he were one of his children. Cherri’s head lolled to the side, revealing a blistered red burn under his ear.  
  
His hands shook as he fumbled with the transmitter. “Hello?” he said. “I’m just outside of Sunburst. I have a man here with a self-inflicted laser shot to the head.” As he gave the medic the details, his voice sounded thin and distant, as if he were hearing himself speak on a recording. On her instruction, he felt Cherri’s neck for his pulse. “Yes,” he said. “He’s still breathing.”  
  
“We’ll be right there,” the medic said, then ended the call.  
  
He dropped the transmitter, then bowed his head and cradled his face in his hand. He thought desperately of the way that Dr. Death had described him when he was near death: his skin was white, his lips turned blue. Cherri’s skin still had color. But did blood loss make a difference? He had no idea. The ray gun rested on the car seat above him, the tip of the barrel blackened and burnt.  
  
He pushed his hair back from his face. Even in the cold air, his hair was soaked with sweat. Something burned in the back of his throat. The car engine still hummed, the headlights casting across the river and lighting up the scraggly trees.  
  
\---  
  
The medics arrived twenty minutes later. They brought Cherri back to Dr. Death’s house and carried him to the bedroom. After checking his vitals, they cleaned and bandaged the wound. As they removed the saline drip, he began to stir awake. He winced as he pushed himself to a sitting position. One of the medics checked his cognitive functioning: asking him questions, instructing him to follow her finger with his eyes.  
  
While they packed up their supplies, the lead medic gave Chow Mein instructions: don’t leave him alone, keep him occupied, make sure he changes the bandages regularly. Chow Mein nodded, but he felt like he had just woken from a coma. His mind was foggy with exhaustion. When they finally left, he sank into the chair beside the bed. Cherri sat listlessly with his hands folded together.  
  
“How are you feeling?” Chow Mein said.  
  
Cherri laughed wearily. “I feel like death,” he said. “I forgot that gun wasn’t full power.”  
  
“It wasn’t?”   
  
“I bought it after I got out of rehab,” he said. “It’s what they recommended. It’s enough to defend yourself with, but it won’t kill you if you…you know.”  
  
He rubbed at the bandage, then dropped his hand in his lap. The back of his hand was bruised where they had inserted the IV.  
  
“Tom, you’re wasting your time,” he said quietly. “I know you and D are trying to help, but…I’m not going to change. I’m going to be flashing through this cycle my whole life.”  
  
He slumped back against the headboard. His eyes were red and bleary.  
  
“There are war vets who have moved on with their lives,” Chow Mein said. “It’s not impossible.”  
  
“I’m not a war vet,” Cherri said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I used to think I was. They used to tell us we were fighting some secret war in the desert. But there’s no war. I was just a kid going out and murdering Dracs because he believed the shit that his gang told him.”  
  
He looked miserably at the ceiling.  
  
“I just don’t understand it,” he said. “I mean, why me? Why am I the only one that’s not dead or in prison?”  
  
“Because you left the camp,” Chow Mein said. “They didn’t. They made their decision.”  
  
“I didn’t make that choice,” he said. “You and D got me out of there. And I’m grateful that you did, don’t get me wrong. But I’m not going to change, man. What I did, it’s going to stay with me for the rest of my life.”  
  
Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. A tree branch waved in the wind outside the window.  
  
“When I first joined the Soldiers, I thought I was going to save the world,” Cherri said, breaking the silence.  
  
“Did you?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “Well, at first I thought they were just a scavenger camp. That’s what they told me. They said that I could stay if I helped them out on their trips. I was like, sure. I didn’t think too much about it. The first time we ran into Dracs, they were scared shitless, and I didn’t understand why. We all had to hide out until they passed. Peter—the leader, Peter Glass—said that they did terrible things, but he wouldn’t tell us what.”  
  
“And that intrigued you,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Yeah. Of course. That went on for a while, with people kind of hinting that the Dracs did horrible things. Everybody had a story about the Dracs harassing them or chasing their families out of the city or something. Of course, we all wanted to know what was going on. So finally, one day, Peter took the new recruits aside and said, _I’m going to tell you the truth about Draculoids. I won’t tell you everything right away because it’s a lot to take in, but I’ll start with the biggest stuff_.  
  
“So he took us into a room with a TV, and he put in this VHS tape. On the screen was surveillance footage. And—Jesus, I’ll never forget this—the footage showed a Drac executing three people. They were kneeling on the highway, and he just shot them dead. One by one. When it was over, we were all stunned. There was dead silence in the room, it just…I mean, it wrecked us.”  
  
He wrapped his arms around himself.  
  
“That was just the start of it,” he said. “He showed us maybe a dozen videos, with Dracs killing people and beating them up. In rehab, they told us that a lot of the Soldiers’ videos are faked, but of course I didn’t know that at the time. He said that he watched Dracs kill his family right in front of him. And he said that everything the city told us was a lie to cover up what they really did. He said that citizens were under constant surveillance, and the Dracs threatened people who stepped out of line, and they performed experiments on the ‘droids, and…” He shook his head. “All this fucked-up stuff.  
  
“And pretty soon, they started talking about fighting back,” he said. “That’s when they started training us. They started teaching us to fight and shoot a ray gun, and live out in the wilderness, and…” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I can’t go on with this. I guess you know what happened next.”  
  
Cherri squeezed himself tightly. He reached for the dog tags around his neck, rubbing his thumb over the raised letters. Chow Mein thought of the old dog tags tucked in a desk drawer in his bedroom. _LOUIE PICKETT._  
  
“I’m sorry about your wrist, man,” Cherri said.  
  
Chow Mein glanced down at his wrist. He shook his head, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s not the worst injury I’ve sustained,” he said.  
  
“Most of that night is still a blur to me,” he said. “Man, after everything I’ve done to you, I can’t believe you still treat me like a human being.”  
  
Chow Mein looked away, shaking his head. His head swam with exhaustion.  
  
“I think I’m about to pass out,” he said. “I’ll call Newsie. She might be able to stay up with you.”  
  
After getting her number, he radioed Newsie, who promised to arrive as soon as possible. He waited in the bedroom until her truck pulled up to the house. She arrived with a duffel bag of supplies and a mug of instant coffee. “Well, I’m ready to stay up all night,” she said. “Are you going to bed? You look like you’re about to fall over.”  
  
“In a few minutes,” he said.  
  
“All right. If you want to change, just grab some of D’s clothes. I don’t think he’ll mind.”  
  
Newsie grabbed a pot from one of the cabinets and tore open a bag of white beans. The beans slid into the pot with a loud rushing sound. “I’m going to make us a hot meal,” she said in response to his questioning look. “My mother always said that helps everything.”  
  
“My mother would have told me to pray,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Would she?” Newsie said. “That’s not bad advice, I guess.”  
  
They said their goodbyes and he headed for the guest room, a storage space with a cot propped up against the wall. His muscles ached with exhaustion. But when he finally sank into bed, his mind wandered for an hour until he eventually drifted off to sleep.  
  
\---  
  
The next morning, he drove to his house to fetch his clothes. When he returned, Cherri was sitting in the living room. He had washed up and changed his clothes, but his face still looked sickly. He was bent over, clutching his head. Sweat had formed in the roots of his hair.  
  
“Well, you look terrible,” Chow Mein said without thinking. Realizing his mistake, he winced and looked away.  
  
Cherri laughed weakly. “Yeah, I’m sure I do,” he said. “You didn’t bring any coffee, did you? I think Newsie drank it all last night.”  
  
“I don’t drink coffee,” he said.  
  
“Really?” Cherri said. “How do you get up in the morning?”  
  
“It’s a stimulant,” he said, fixing up his tie. He had performed the action so many times that he no longer needed a mirror. “If you’re not hooked on it, you don’t need it.”  
  
“I used to drink coffee every morning,” Cherri said. “When we had it, anyway. I always woke up with these killer headaches.”  
  
They said their goodbyes to Newsie, then walked out into the sunlight. The air was brisk. Frost glinted in the weeds like tiny jewels. Chow Mein unlocked the car, then glanced up to see Cherri standing by the porch with his arms wrapped around himself. His eyes were distant.  
  
“Are you coming, Cherri?” he said.  
  
“Yeah,” Cherri said after a moment. “Yeah, I just…I don’t know how I’m going to make it through this day.”  
  
Chow Mein stepped away from the car. “I’ve had that thought at least once a week for the past fourteen years,” he said. “It’s not easy. I won’t tell you that it is. But it’s not impossible.”  
  
Cherri looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. He nodded to himself as if he were making a decision. There was something weak and raw about him, like a newborn child. But he ducked his head and headed to the car, the tall grasses brushing against his legs as if he were a ghost on the riverbank whispering through the reeds.


	28. Chapter 28

**2011**  
  
Dr. Death poured a pan of grease into the bubbling lye, then stirred the mixture over the fire. The sun was starting to rise over the mountains, shooting pink streaks across the sky. The long shadows were beginning to disappear. Birds darted and twittered around the trees. Pony shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of Dr. Death’s chair.  
  
“Volume didn’t say when he’s coming again, did he?” Pony said.  
  
“No, he didn’t,” Dr. Death said. “Probably not for a while. I think they’ve got a lot to deal with right now.”  
  
Pony sighed and rested his chin on his hands. “I want more wine,” he said.  
  
“I don’t,” Dr. Death said.  
  
“You don’t?”  
  
“Eh. You know I’m not a big drinker.”  
  
Steam rose from the pot as he stirred the mixture. The sun peered over the mountains like a curious eye.  
  
“I don’t know if I’ll—” Pony started to say, then stopped. Something rustled in the grasses behind them. Dr. Death turned around, reaching for the ray gun in his jacket. “Shit,” he hissed. Two shadowy figures were moving toward the campfire. As they moved closer, he could barely make out the outline of two women.  
  
Pony jumped to his feet. “Who are you?” he said.  
  
“Hello,” one of the women said in an oddly sterile voice. “Are you Dr. Death Defying?”  
  
“Who’s asking?” Dr. Death said.  
  
The women stepped over to the fire. One of the women wore a black latex outfit and a bright green wig. The other had rubbery skin and glassy eyes. Something glinted on her arm. When she shifted, Dr. Death realized that twisted wires were poking through a tear in her synthetic flesh.  
  
“I am A-187,” she said in the same sterile voice. “This is my friend Green 56.B. We have come from Battery City. We are fans of your radio show. We have been hoping to meet you for quite a while.”  
  
“We really are,” Green said. Her voice was soft and soothing. “We listened to your broadcast every day. We love it. You’re amazing.”  
  
Dr. Death laughed. “Well, thank you,” he said. “Look—no offense, but we’re going to have to do a sweep to check for any bugs.”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Green said. “Of course. Go ahead. They already checked us at Freyja Falls.”  
  
Pony darted back to the house, then returned with an electronic device held together by screws and duct tape. He passed the meter over the women. Dr. Death held his breath, waiting for a beep, but it never came.  
  
“Looks like you guys are clean,” Pony said. A-187 smiled blandly as if he’d complimented her.  
  
“I’m sorry if we’re bothering you,” Green said. “We just didn’t know where else to go.”  
  
“Well, you’ll probably want to hit Cherryville,” Dr. Death said. “They’ve got techies up there that’ll take care of you. You’ll need to be somewhere where you can get charged regularly.”  
  
“Do other androids live there?” Green said.  
  
“I’m not sure. I think they had one, but I don’t know if he’s still there. Pony, grab my transmitter and the address book, would you?”  
  
While Pony stirred the soap mixture over the fire, Dr. Death called his contacts. A few showed interest, but declined when they calculated the cost of gas. Most declined right away. In between calls, the androids told stories of their lives in the city: working eighteen-hour days, huddling together in tiny electric compounds, watching their broken friends get dragged off to become scrap metal. After her arm injury, A-187 had learned that she’d been marked down on the scrap list.  
  
“Did you guys get out through a fake transport?” Pony said.  
  
“Yes,” A-187 said. “We were instructed to hide inside a supply truck. We were transported to Freyja Falls.”  
  
“I think you two got lucky,” Dr. Death said. “Last we heard, they’re thinking about getting rid of the fake transports. The city’s starting to get wise to that.”  
  
They talked while the sun rose and the sky lightened to pale blue. Green helped Pony pour the soap mixture into molds. Dr. Death was reaching the last pages in his address book. He was wondering if he should start offering to cover the gas money when a battered yellow truck pulled up to the house. A woman with red hair jumped out of the truck. Dr. Death vaguely recognized her as someone who frequented the bar in town.  
  
“Are these the androids that you’ve been calling everyone about?” she said, marching up to the campfire.  
  
“Yeah, that’s them,” Dr. Death said. “Hey, if you’re interested, we might be able to cover the gas money—”  
  
The woman whipped out a ray gun and fired. Pony shrieked and jumped back. Green collapsed to the ground, shuddering and jerking. “No!” Dr. Death said, but the woman fired again. A shower of sparks burst from the back of A-187’s head. She let out a ghastly grinding sound, then fell to the ground in a heap. Dr. Death sat paralyzed in his chair. Pony burst into sobs.  
  
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Pony shrieked just as Dr. Death said “What the hell? We checked them! They were clean!”  
  
“You think the city’s not going to come looking for them?” she said. “You need to stop bringing trouble into the Zones, D!”  
  
“I’m not bringing trouble anywhere! What the hell? You just killed these two androids for nothing!”  
  
“They’re stolen property,” she said, jabbing a finger at him. “The city was going to come looking for them, and then we’d have another Drac invasion on our hands.”  
  
“The fuck are you talking about? That’s bullshit!”  
  
Shaking her head, the woman stormed back to her truck and drove away. Fuses popped and sparked on the ground. Pony’s shoulders shook with sobs. The acrid stench of smoke rose from the burnt synthetic skin.  
  
“Fucking bitch,” Dr. Death said. “I’m tempted to go on air and blast this all over the waves.”  
  
Pony started to quiet his sobs. Dr. Death reached over and patted him on the arm. “Go get a sheet, okay?” he said. “Go on. Let’s cover them up.”  
  
Pony draped a white sheet over the wreckage. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. Pony sat on the ground and pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. His face was still wet with tears.  
  
“I guess we need to call someone to get them out of here,” Dr. Death said finally.  
  
Pony sniffed and wiped his eyes. “A lot of people won’t do it,” he said. His voice was clogged and nasally. “It’s too much like hauling off dead bodies.”  
  
“I know,” Dr. Death said. “Maybe I’ll call Tom. I don’t know if he’s comfortable with it either, but he’s our best bet.”  
  
“It won’t bother him,” Pony muttered. “He doesn’t have feelings.”  
  
Dr. Death rolled his eyes, but he was too tired to argue. He called Chow Mein on his transmitter. An hour later, he pulled up to the house. Pony had carried the soap inside and was slicing it into bars. Dr. Death sat in front of the wreckage, the edges of the sheet lifting in the wind.  
  
Chow Mein crouched down and lifted the sheet. He turned A-187’s head toward him. The eyes shifted to the left. The mouth hung open. He drew the sheet back over the bodies and stood up. Dr. Death noticed that he looked faintly uneasy.  
  
“Does it bother you?” Dr. Death said. “I know it’s like looking at dead bodies.”  
  
“I’ve never been fond of androids,” Chow Mein said. He stepped back from the wreckage. “I don’t think I’ll be able to give you much. The circuits are probably fried.”  
  
Dr. Death waved a hand. “You don’t have to give me anything,” he said.  
  
“I can’t do that, Steve,” he said.  
  
“You’re hauling them out of here,” he said. “That’s your payment. I don’t want to put a price on their lives.”  
  
Chow Mein wrapped the androids in fireproof material, then drove them to the workshop in Cherryville. The walls were made of sheets of aluminum. Android parts hung from the back wall like cuts of meat. A buzzsaw screeched in the darkness, shooting off a shower of sparks. DJ inspected the androids, then instructed two of her friends to carry them to the back.  
  
“Yeah, they’re fried,” DJ said. “We’ll give you thirty carbons for both of them.” She grabbed a lockbox and counted out the payment. “If they’d been operational, you’d be looking at maybe sixty per ‘droid,” she said. “The pornodroid might’ve gone for a hundred.”  
  
Chow Mein laughed shortly. “I’m not looking to get into the android business,” he said.  
  
“Well, it’s just as well,” she said. “We got word that the city’s started building them with batteries that go dead when they leave the grid. They’re basically tied to the city.”  
  
“Are they?” he said.  
  
“Yeah. Some of them are trying to get out while they can, but it’s not looking good.”  
  
Chow Mein looked at her sympathetically. He tucked the money inside his jacket, then thanked her and headed off.  
  
\---  
**  
** An old two-story house rested in the shadow of the hill. The shutters were closed tightly over the windows. Most of the paint had been stripped off the walls, showing the bare wood underneath. Chow Mein knocked on the front door. A baby wailed inside. He closed his eyes and steadied himself. The door swung open and the cries ripped through the air like a siren.  
  
“Oh, thank God,” the woman said. The baby shrieked in her arms. “Are you that salesman? Tommy Chow Mein or whatever?”  
  
“Yes ma’am,” he said, trying not to cringe at the shrieks.  
  
She shifted the baby in her arms. “Where’s that kid that works for you? I thought he’d be coming over.”  
  
“Cherri Cola?” he said. “He’s back at the store. I handle the transactions. He just runs the deliveries and pick-ups.”  
  
The woman’s face paled. Without another word, she swept inside the house and gestured for him to follow. The living room was decorated with old paintings, kerosene lamps, and a wood stove perched in the corner. A man in a pair of overalls stood up from the couch. An elderly woman sat beside him with her hands folded in her lap.  
  
“Hey!” the man said, grabbing his hand and shaking it. “I’m Jake Williams. This is my wife Rachel, and my mother-in-law Ida. I’m not sure what to call you?”  
  
“Call me Tom,” he said.  
  
“Tom. Got it. Do you want to sit down? Go on. Have a seat.”  
  
Jake patted the back of one of the chairs. When Chow Mein took a seat, the door suddenly slammed behind him. He jumped and looked around, his heart pounding. Rachel stood at the doorway. She looked at him with confusion.  
  
“Easy there,” Jake said. “Are you nervous?”  
  
Chow Mein didn’t respond. “You were looking to buy colic medicine?” he said over the baby’s screams. The wails had grown louder.  
  
Jake laughed lightly, touching the brim of his hat. “Yes, if it’s not obvious,” he said. “You can imagine what it’s been like, listening to that for the past few days.”  
  
Chow Mein nodded, lowering his eyes. He opened the suitcase and took out a small white box stamped with the Better Living logo. The box was still wrapped in plastic.  
  
“I’m asking for eight carbons,” he said just as the baby let out a high-pitched shriek.  
  
“What?” Jake said over the wails.  
  
“I said, I’m asking for eight carbons.”  
  
“Eight carbons? Are you serious?”  
  
Rachel’s eyes widened. “Is he kidding?” she said. She tucked the baby against her shoulder and shushed it, but it continued to scream.  
  
“This is the cheapest on the market,” Chow Mein said. “Everyone else is asking ten carbons or more.”  
  
“Ten carbons?” Jake said. “Do you think we can pay ten carbons for this?”  
  
“We had a woman just the other day who was selling pain pills for two carbons each!” Rachel said.  
  
“That’s just general medicine,” Chow Mein said. “That’s cheaper. The specialized medicine is harder to come by.”  
  
“Well, what the hell, do you think we can just whip out eight carbons and hand it over?” Jake said. “You know we’re living day-to-day here.”  
  
“I understand that,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“If we save up, we can get you eight carbons by the end of the month,” Rachel said. “That’s the best we can do.”  
  
Chow Mein closed his eyes and bowed his head. He had known this was coming.  
  
“I can’t do that,” he said. “I’m sorry. I don’t take delayed payments.”  
  
“Well, that’s the only way you’re going to get it,” Jake said. “Because we can’t afford that now. That’s ridiculous.”  
  
“We’ll get it to you by the end of the month,” Rachel said again.  
  
“I can’t do that,” he said.  
  
“Why not?” she said.  
  
“Because, ma’am, with all due respect, I—”  
  
The baby shrieked again. Chow Mein winced and turned away. Rachel patted the baby’s back and shushed it, glaring at him over the baby’s shoulder.  
  
“You know we’ve been listening to this for three days,” Jake said. “Three days, I’ve been listening to my son wailing like that. For God’s sake, he sounds like he’s dying.”  
  
“Colic is usually not fatal,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“I know. But Jesus, man. Are you going to listen to that and tell us that you’re not going to give us the medicine because we don’t have the cash right now?”  
  
“Do you have any equivalent that you can trade?” he said, his impatience rising. “Tools, silverware? Electronic equipment?”  
  
“You think we can afford to trade anything that’s worth eight carbons in this house?”  
  
Chow Mein was about to respond when the baby’s screams ripped through his ears. He flinched and shuddered. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “Get it out of here, would you?”  
  
Rachel’s eyes widened in shock. She flashed him an icy look, then marched out of the living room. The baby’s rooms carried through the hallway until a door slammed. Muffled cries still carried through the walls.  
  
Jake’s expression was hard. “You know, I don’t think much of you right now,” he said.  
  
“This is my only offer,” Chow Mein said. “If there were an alternative, I’d take it.”  
  
Jake shook his head, his face tight with anger. Suddenly he jumped to his feet. Chow Mein rose to his feet, about to reach for his gun, but Jake strode over to the dresser and grabbed the kerosene lamp. He marched off into the hallway, then returned with two cans. He thrust the goods into Chow Mein’s hands.  
  
“Is that enough?” he said. “Don’t tell me that’s not worth eight carbons.”  
  
Chow Mein turned the cans around in his hands. The labels read _Dead Pegasus Fuel._ The containers appeared to be full.  
  
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I can take it.”  
  
Jake snatched the colic medicine. “Good,” he said. “Don’t sell that. Hang on to it until we bring you the money.”  
  
The elderly woman glared at him as he tucked the goods in his suitcase. Jake followed him to the door, then stopped him at the doorway.  
  
“You might want to think about what you’re doing,” Jake said. “You keep going on like this, and it’s going to be pretty hot where you’re going.”  
  
Chow Mein looked at him coldly, then swept out the door. The baby’s shrieks still rang in his ears. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he unlocked the car, feeling a headache building.  
  
\---  
  
Dr. Death swirled the whiskey in his glass, then drank the last of it. Aside from a few people mingling around the tables and counter, The Burning Tire bar was almost empty. The bartender adjusted the radio behind the counter. A man in a pair of overalls sat next to Dr. Death. His hands were rough and calloused, with dirt crusted around his fingernails.  
  
“Hey, man,” Dr. Death said. “How’s it going?”  
  
“Oh, it’s going,” he said. Suddenly the man stopped and looked at him. “Hey,” he said. “You’re that DJ, aren’t you? Dr. Death Defying?”  
  
Dr. Death laughed. “Yeah, that’s me,” he said. “Are you a big radio listener?”  
  
“Eh, the wife and I listen to your show every so often,” the man said. He offered his hand to shake. “Jake Williams. I work at a couple of farms around the area.”  
  
“Nice to meet you,” Dr. Death said. “Just a word of advice, though—be careful about giving your full name out to people.”  
  
“People say that, but we haven’t run into any problems yet,” Jake said.  
  
Dr. Death shrugged. “So how’s your day been?”  
  
Jake sighed and shook his head. “Man, you wouldn’t believe the asshole we dealt with earlier today.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Dr. Death said, tilting his glass back and forth.  
  
“Yeah. So my son Caleb’s been colicky for a few days. He’s been screaming to high heaven, we’re all worried sick about him. None of the medics in the area could give us any medicine. So we called around for a while, and we finally found a guy that sells it. And he wants _eight carbons_ for one bottle of medicine.”  
  
Dr. Death winced. “Yeah, that shit doesn’t come cheap,” he said. “I’ve heard of pills selling for fifty carbons before.”  
  
“Well, obviously we couldn’t afford that,” Jake said. “So my wife Rachel offered to pay him at the end of the month. And he looked at us and said that he doesn’t take delayed payments.”  
  
Dr. Death paused, looking into his glass. “A lot of suppliers can’t,” he said. “It’s nothing against you personally, they just don’t know if you’re going to skip town or whatever.”  
  
“My wife and I have lived here for three years,” Jake said. “I promise that we’re not going to skip town.”  
  
“Yeah, I know. I’m just saying, it’s not that uncommon.”  
  
“Well, regardless of that, he said this while Caleb was screaming at the top of his lungs,” Jake said. “And I’m telling you, I’ve never seen anybody look as cold as he did. No sign of sympathy. He even yelled at my wife to get the baby out of the room.”  
  
Dr. Death rolled the glass between his hands before speaking. “Oh yeah?” he said.  
  
“Yeah. Jesus. Made me wish I’d never heard of the man.”  
  
“Well, some people are like that,” Dr. Death said.  
  
“Real jittery fellow, too. He jumped about a mile when my wife shut the door.”  
  
Dr. Death nodded. Suddenly someone called his name. He turned and looked around gratefully. Volume was waving at him from one of the back tables. Dr. Death waved back, then turned back to Jake.  
  
“Well,someone’s calling me,” he said. “It was nice talking to you, Jake.”  
  
“You too, sir.”  
  
Dr. Death wheeled over to the table. Volume, a teenager with a limp mohawk, sat at the table with papers spread in front of him. A plate of food from the bar sat on top of the pile. He ate quickly as he talked.  
  
“Hey, man,” Volume said. “How’s it?”  
  
“Not too bad,” Dr. Death said. “Pony’s still wondering when you’re going to come over with more wine.”  
  
Volume laughed. “I think it’s going to be a while yet,” he said. “Take a look at this.”  
  
He extracted a map from the pile. A few areas were circled in red. Dr. Death leaned over the map and narrowed his eyes.  
  
“You remember those Dracs that were hanging around the mail room?” Volume said. He tapped one of the circles. “Now we’re getting word that they moved to the motel. They’re just hanging out there, probably to scare people off.”  
  
“Wonder if the owners are working with them,” Dr. Death said.  
  
“Wouldn’t surprise me a bit,” Volume said. “Apparently the Dracs have been really nasty to everyone. Blocking the doors, yelling people from across the road, that kind of thing. Some people think the owners are paying them to do this on purpose.”  
  
“What, are they trying to scare off the riff-raff?”  
  
“Probably,” Volume said. “It’s Golden Valley. You know what they’re like. We’re thinking about sending a few guys up there to talk to them.”  
  
Dr. Death laughed. “Talk to them, huh?”  
  
Volume laughed with him. “Something like that,” he said. “Can we count on you guys for radio back-up?”  
  
“Always,” Dr. Death said. “You know you can.”  
  
“Great. And I’ll try to have that wine by next month.” Volume laughed. “If we can get ahold of our supplier, anyway. I think she’s been dodging us.”  
  
“Well, that’s what happens when you call her at all hours of the day.”  
  
“We’ve got a lot of mouths to feed,” Volume said. “But seriously. Thank you.”  
  
“You don’t have to thank us,” Dr. Death said. “We’re just trying to curb some of the bullshit out here.”  
  
“I hear that,” Volume said, scraping the last shreds of vegetables off his plate. “Have you guys eaten yet?”  
  
“We were going to pick something up on the way back.”  
  
“Yeah? Hang on. I’ll go get something for you.”  
  
Volume stood up, carrying his plate to the front counter. “Tell them none of that dry bread,” Dr. Death called after him. “I hate that shit.”  
  
“Got it,” Volume said, flashing the OK sign. Dr. Death grinned, then turned back to the table, still smiling to himself.


	29. Chapter 29

Dr. Death extracted a newspaper from the pile of papers on his desk, then handed it to Chow Mein. He scanned the headline. _Twelve Androids Dead After Mass Suicide Linked to Apparent Suicide Cult._ A grainy photograph showed a twisted heap of androids like scrap metal piled in a junkyard. He turned to the next page, which showed a photo of Korse talking to a border security guard.  
  
“It’s getting bad in there, Tom,” Dr. Death said. “I’m hearing news like this every day. People are getting desperate.”  
  
“Steve, you know that this was faulty programming,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Faulty programming?” Dr. Death said. “Oh, come on. These were twelve different androids, all from different manufacturers. There’s no way this is a coincidence.”  
  
“No one would deliberately program androids to commit suicide,” Chow Mein said. “It was either a glitch or a hacker.”  
  
“No way it was a hacker,” Dr. Death said. “If it was a hacker, they would have focused on one group in particular.”  
  
“It was a glitch, then,” Chow Mein said. “Steve, androids don’t feel anything. They don’t get suicidal. Something in their programming must have told them to cross the city border.”  
  
Dr. Death took the newspaper back and studied the article for a moment. Then he closed the newspaper, shaking his head.  
  
“I don’t know what the hell to do anymore,” he said. “The Vs are trying to get people out, but the city’s cracking down on that. I’m sure they’re going to ramp up security after this.”  
  
“The Vs?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“The Ultra Vs. Volume’s gang. You know him, I’ve mentioned him a couple of times.”  
  
Dr. Death folded the newspaper and tucked it in a desk drawer. The drawer was stacked to the top with old newspapers.  
  
“Tom, I know this is a lot to ask, but—do you ever think you could use your connections to get your hands on some androids?” he said. “I mean, they’d probably sell them to you.”  
  
“I don’t deal in androids,” Chow Mein said. “It’s nearly impossible to get into that market. And even if I could, I wouldn’t.”  
  
“You wouldn’t?”  
  
He shook his head. “They’d just be exploited out here,” he said. “Worse than they are in the city.”  
  
“Not necessarily,” Dr. Death said. “There’s people out here that would help them. Give them real jobs.”  
  
“You don’t know what goes on in the black market,” he said. “I can’t say I’ve looked into it, either, but there are android sales. God only knows what happens to them.”  
  
“Nothing good, I’d imagine,” Dr. Death said grimly. He straightened a stack of papers on the desk. “Well, at least we’ve got more people getting involved,” he said. “You know that yellow mask that you found a while back? The one that that wavehead ran off with?”  
  
“Yes, I know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Yeah, I gave it to this kid recently,” he said. “He said he wants to hide his identity from the security cameras. He and his brother both do. I think a lot of the cameras have been knocked out, but it doesn’t hurt to be safe, I guess.”  
  
Chow Mein nodded. Dr. Death reached over and gently patted him on the arm. He sighed, then stowed the papers in another drawer.  
  
“Oh, well,” he said. “Whatever. You want to stay for dinner?”  
  
\---  
  
Cherri’s transmitter buzzed. He set aside the box he was unpacking and sat on the edge of the bed, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Hello?” he said. Dingy light shone through the curtains, casting a pattern over the bed.  
  
“ _Hey_ ,” said an unfamiliar voice. “ _Is this Cherri Cola?_ ”  
  
“This is he.”  
  
“ _All right, hey. This is Volume with the Ultra Vs. We’re friends with Dr. D. I don’t know if he’s ever mentioned us to you?_ ”  
  
“Oh!” Cherri said. “Yeah, I think he’s mentioned you guys.”  
  
“ _He has? That’s great. All right, I just wanted to let you guys know that we’re going to be stopping by with a delivery_.”  
  
“Yeah? What kind of delivery?”  
  
“ _Eh, just something we think you guys might be interested in. It’s a bit of a sensitive nature_.”  
  
“Wait, wait, hang on,” Cherri said. “This isn’t drugs, is it? Because we don’t sell drugs.”  
  
Volume laughed. “ _No, man!_ ” he said. “ _No, trust me, we don’t mess with drugs, either. It’s not like that_.”  
  
“Is it weapons?”  
  
“ _No! Not weapons_.”  
  
“Then with all due respect, man, what is it?”  
  
“ _It’s hard to explain_ ,” Volume said. “ _But it’s totally safe, all right? Trust me. I’ll show you as soon as we get here_.”  
  
“All right. We’ll be here.”  
  
Cherri looked skeptical as he ended the call. He stuffed the transmitter in his back pocket, then headed off to find Chow Mein.  
  
Ten minutes later, a battered white car with silver trim pulled up to the store. Volume stepped out with a cigar box in his hands. A tall, hulking man with greasy black hair followed him. Volume tucked the box under his arm and darted inside. He abruptly stopped when he saw Chow Mein.  
  
“Whoa,” he said. “You’re a lot shorter in person.”  
  
Cherri laughed. Chow Mein didn’t appear to react.  
  
“Sorry,” Volume said. “It just took me off guard. This is Vinyl. We’re with the Ultra Vs.” He stepped forward and they shook hands. “This is kind of hard to explain, but, uh…we’ve got something you might be interested in.”  
  
“What is it?” Chow Mein said.  
  
Volume handed him the cigar box. A large computer chip was nestled in a bed of paper shavings. Chow Mein picked it up and tilted it so it caught the light.  
  
“Be careful with that,” Volume said. “One sctatch, and it’s all over.”  
  
“What is this?” Chow Mein said.  
  
Volume looked down and rubbed his hands together. “It’s a ‘droid’s memory chip,” he said. “It’s from the city. Instead of trying to transport the whole body, they’re just sending us the chip. Now we’ve gotta find an old android body that will take it.”  
  
“Is the tech compatible?” Cherri said. “Everything out here is pretty outdated.”  
  
“That’s the question,” Volume said. “But some of the techies think they’ve figured it out. They’re trying to wire the old bodies to accept the new chip.”  
  
“So this is the new way of getting androids out of the city,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Yeah. Basically. I mean, it’s not ideal, but the new models just can’t leave the city anymore.”  
  
Chow Mein shook his head, handing him the box. “No,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m not getting involved with this.”  
  
“I mean, we came to you because you’ve got the most connections,” Volume said. “You probably know more techies than anyone. We’re going to need someone who can keep in touch with them and help us transport these chips.”  
  
“I don’t deal in live androids,” he said.  
  
“Well, with all due respect, I don’t see how this is much different from your black market dealings,” Volume said.  
  
“I don’t think you understand how risky the android trade is,” Chow Mein said. “Particularly when they’re being smuggled out of the city. This isn’t just food or medicine. These androids cost the city hundreds of carbons.”  
  
“Look, if anyone says anything to you, you can just direct them to us,” Volume said. “We’re not asking you to stick out your neck for this. We’ll tell them that you were just dealing parts and didn’t know what was going on.”  
  
“And how do I know that you’ll actually do that?” Chow Mein said. “How do I know that you won’t turn us in?”  
  
Volume paused. “I know it’s hard to trust a couple of guys that you just met, but—we wouldn’t do that. The Vs don’t pull that kind of shit.”  
  
Chow Mein shook his head. “I’m not interested,” he said. “And frankly, the androids have no business being in the desert. They weren’t built for life outside of the city.”  
  
Volume looked like he was about to argue, but he bit his lip and shook his head. He tucked the box under his arm. “All right,” he said. “I guess we’ll see you around, Cherri.”  
  
“Yeah. See you.”  
  
Volume flashed him a wave, then headed outside with Vinyl lumbering behind him. Cherri folded his arms. “Well, he wouldn’t take no for an answer,” he said when they left.  
  
“If he calls again, don’t accept any more deliveries from him,” Chow Mein said. “I’m sure this isn’t the end of it.”  
  
In the week that followed, Cherri waited for another call from Volume, but it never came. He spoke to Dr. Death about the situation. Dr. Death agreed to tell the Vs that they didn’t want to be involved. But whenever a delivery arrived, Cherri checked it carefully, half-expecting to find a memory chip sneaked among the supplies. He never saw Volume, except for a brief glance when they passed each other at a market.  
  
After another week passed, Cherri started to forget about the Vs. But one day, he received a supply order from the leader of the Vs—a man who called himself Val Velocity, asking Cherri to deliver it directly to the Nest. Cherri hunted down Chow Mein in his office. Chow Mein sighed and pushed his hair back.  
  
“Send him the delivery,” he said. “But don’t stay long. Don’t let them make any sales pitches.”  
  
Cherri drove to the Nest, a small wooden building with a flag pole towering near the entrance. Vinyl opened the door. He led him into the kitchen, where a group of people were crowded around the table. Cherri blinked in surprise. “Hey!” he said. “I didn’t know you were here, man.”  
  
Dr. Death was sitting next to Volume. “Oh, hey, kid!” he said. “What’s that, a supply delivery?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s for, uh—Val? Val Velocity?”  
  
A young man with bleached white hair stood up. He took the package and handed him the payment. “Thanks,” Val said curtly.  
  
“How’s it been going at the store?” Dr. Death said.  
  
“Oh, not too bad,” Cherri said. “I’ve gotta get back, actually.”  
  
“Well, feel free to drop in any time,” Volume said. “It gets boring around here, talking to these same ol’ losers.”  
  
Everyone laughed except Val, who smiled thinly and looked away. Cherri smiled politely, then turned and hurried out the door. Vinyl was working on the car outside. Cherri waved at him, but he didn’t look up.  
  
A few days later, the Vs called for another delivery. A few days after that, they called in another one. Every time Cherri visited, they snuck in tidbits of information about their missions. On the third delivery, Volume brought up the chip again, but Cherri just nodded politely. Dr. Death was usually at the house during these visits. Once he was huddled over a map with Val and Volume, talking quietly. They immediately fell silent when Cherri walked in.  
  
One day, an hour after Volume had placed their order, an unfamiliar car pulled up to the Nest. Volume hurried up to the front door. Dr. Death craned his neck to see what was going on. When the door opened, he stifled a laugh.  
  
“It’s you,” Volume said.  
  
“It’s me,” Chow Mein said. He thrust the package into his hands. “If you need a delivery, limit it to once a week unless it’s an emergency. Otherwise, don’t waste our time.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Volume said. His hands trembled as he fished the payment out of his wallet. Chow Mein shot him a look, then turned and headed back to his car.  
  
Volume closed the door and dropped the package on the kitchen table. Dr. Death was still holding back a laugh. “Yeah, I think you’ve pissed him off,” he said.  
  
“We weren’t trying to piss him off,” Volume said. He slumped down in the chair. “Man, I just don’t see why Cherri won’t help us with this. Everyone I’ve met says he’s the nicest guy they know.”  
  
“I think Tom just doesn’t want to get involved,” Dr. Death said.  
  
“Yeah, but how does that affect Cherri? Why can’t he get involved?”  
  
“He probably doesn’t want to be doing this behind his back,” Dr. Death said. “Everything would have to go through Tom anyway. He’s got the connections.”  
  
Volume raised a hand, then dropped it. “Man, I just don’t get it,” he said. “Are they fooling around in one of the back rooms or something?”  
  
Dr. Death laughed. “Stop,” he said.  
  
“I’m serious. What the hell is up with those two?”  
  
“They’ve got a long history together,” Dr. Death said. “I’m not going to get into it,” he said in response to Volume’s questioning look. “They’ve just known each other for a while. I think Cherri’s attached to him.”  
  
“Well, he better get unattached,” Volume said. Dr. Death laughed, then raised his eyebrows as he adjusted one of the maps.  
  
That night, the Vs built a bonfire in front of the Nest. Flames crackled over the tower of logs that were arranged like a teepee. Someone brewed tea in a silver kettle. After digging around in one of the closets, Vinyl unearthed an old smoke bomb. He lit the bomb on the highway. A few people laughed and shrieked, chasing each other through the clouds of smoke.  
  
Volume sat down next to Dr. Death, carrying a metal plate of beans. “You want some?” he said. “There’s more back in the kitchen.”   
  
“Nah, I’m good,” Dr. Death said. “Thank you.”  
  
Volume nodded and scraped beans around the plate. “You know, I think we’re going to stop doing business with this farm,” he said.  
  
“Really?” Dr. Death said. “What, did they raise the prices?”  
  
Volume laughed. “I wish,” he said. “No, they’re going neutral.”  
  
“They won’t sell to you anymore?”  
  
He ate a spoonful of beans. “Nope. We won’t buy from them.”  
  
Dr. Death looked at him oddly. “Just because they’re neutral?” he said.  
  
“Yup. We don’t associate with people like that.”  
  
“Well, being neutral’s not a crime,” Dr. Death said. “It’s not like they’re working for the city.”  
  
“They might as well be,” Volume said. “I mean, you can’t stay neutral in a situation like this.”  
  
“Maybe they just don’t want to get involved,” Dr. Death said.  
  
“No one’s saying they have to get involved,” Volume said. “But I mean—when you tell someone that the city’s exploiting androids, and that person decides to go neutral, what does that tell you about them?”  
  
Dr. Death watched the fire for a moment. “You know, not everybody’s out here to fight,” he said. “I think some people are just trying to survive.”  
  
“But so are they,” Volume said. “I mean, so are the androids. We can help them more than people in the city can. If you’ve got the chance to help somebody, don’t you think you should take it?”  
  
“I think everyone should decide that for themselves,” Dr. Death said after a moment.  
  
Volume shrugged and returned to his plate. Dr. Death gazed into the fire. He tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair. The acrid stench of the smoke bomb wafted toward them, mingling with the smell of campfire smoke.  
  
\---  
  
Chow Mein took a drag, then slowly exhaled the smoke into the air. The still evening light cast a yellowish glow on the trees. The light blue sky faded into pink at the horizon. Dr. Death took the joint from him and inhaled, the embers glowing. The smoke disappeared in the air like a dissipating fog.  
  
“Man, Pony’s been driving me nuts lately,” Dr. Death said, resting the joint in an ashtray.  
  
“Is he?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Yeah. He decided out of nowhere that he’s some kind of sewing expert. So now he’s got a pile of clothes in the bedroom from people who want him to do repairs, and he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. I’m always pulling out the stitches and redoing it.”  
  
“Telling him to stop bringing it home,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“I’ve tried that,” Dr. Death said. “But he just says he’ll figure it out.”  
  
He sighed and shifted in his seat. A flock of birds flew across the trees and disappeared over the horizon.  
  
“You know, Tom, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” he said.  
  
“What is it?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“It’s about the androids.”  
  
He shook his head. “Steve, not this again.”  
  
“No, hang on. Listen. I know you don’t want to risk yourself. I get it. But there’s not much risk involved here. All you’re really doing is selling android parts.”  
  
“And you think they’re going to believe that?”  
  
“Why the hell wouldn’t they? Just say you didn’t know what was going on.”  
  
Chow Mein shook his head, an almost amused look on his face.  
  
“Tom, man—there’s very little risk or effort involved,” Dr. Death said. “At least on your end. And you’ll be helping out God knows how many androids.”  
  
“I’ve said that they don’t have any business in the desert,” he said. “I’m standing by it. I’m not going to help them escape the city.”  
  
“All right, but what about the ones that are already out here? Why not help them?”  
  
“Steve, I’m not getting involved in this.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because, and at the risk of sounding coldhearted, it’s not my responsibility.”  
  
“Jesus, Tom—that’s your motto, isn’t it? It’s not your responsibility.”  
  
Chow Mein looked at him in surprise. “Steve, how many of these androids have they even relocated?” he said.  
  
Dr. Death paused, lacing his fingers behind his head. “They haven’t gotten to that yet,” he said.  
  
Chow Mein laughed. “Of course not,” he said. “That’s what I thought. They didn’t bother to do any research before jumping in, and now they’ve got a pile of memory chips collecting dust in their house.”  
  
“Tom, if you would just help them out—”  
  
“They don’t need my help,” he said. “If they knew what they were doing, they would have worked with the techies and had the androids ready before they even started with the chips. Their plan is a joke.”  
  
“Tom, is there a reason that you’re so adverse to helping other people?”  
  
“Excuse me?” he said.  
  
“I’m serious,” Dr. Death said. “Every time somebody needs your help, it takes a lot of arm-twisting to get you to do anything.”  
  
“Jesus Christ, Steve,” Chow Mein said. “Is this what you think you’re doing? You think you’re helping the Zones by sitting around with a bunch of stoned teenagers?”  
  
“All right, first off, I don’t recall seeing you at these meetings, so don’t try to tell me what goes on there,” Dr. Death said. “And second, I don’t see you refusing when someone offers you pot.”  
  
Chow Mein stood up, shaking his head. “For the last time, I’m not getting involved in this,” he said. “Don’t bring it up to me again.”  
  
“All right. Yeah. Whatever.”  
  
He marched off to the car and started the engine. Dr. Death took another drag from the joint. The smoke floated up in front of his face, temporarily blocking his vision. When he wove it away, the car was gone.


	30. Chapter 30

A mouse was huddled in the corner of the closet, chewing on an old piece of cardboard. Chow Mein grabbed the broom and chased it out the back door. He was replacing the broom when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned around to see Cherri behind him, holding his transmitter.  
  
“Pony just called in a supply order,” Cherri said. “He, uh…he had some interesting news.”  
  
“What is it?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“He said that D’s not going to advertise your store anymore.”  
  
His expression didn’t change. “Why not?”  
  
“Apparently his show is for _Killjoys only_ , whatever that means,” Cherri said.  
  
Chow Mein leaned slightly against the broom handle. “What is a Killjoy? Why do I keep hearing this term?”  
  
“I think it’s the word for people who fight the city,” Cherri said. “Pony said that he’s not going to advertise neutrals anymore. He said that he doesn’t support that.”  
  
Chow Mein shook his head. He locked the broom in the closet, trying to keep his expression steady. “I’ll call Kristan,” he muttered. “She doesn’t have the same kind of reach, but she might have a few hundred listeners—”  
  
Suddenly tires screeched outside. Their heads shot up. They darted out into the blinding sunlight to find Volume’s car tearing around the parking lot, driving in circles and leaving black tire marks on the pavement. The driver, a person with a shock of teal hair, whooped and shrieked and tossed soda cans out of the windows. Then they hit the gas pedal and veered back onto the highway, shouting and howling with laughter.  
  
“If I had a gun, I’d shoot their tires out,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“All right, that’s it,” Cherri said, grabbing his car keys. “I’m going to go talk to these assholes.”  
  
“Remember that you’ve got a delivery at five.”  
  
“Yeah. I’ll be back by then. Don’t worry.”  
  
Cherri drove to the Nest and pounded on the front door. When Vinyl opened the door, he stormed past him and into the kitchen, where Val and Volume sat with Dr. Death at the table. Pony was slouched in a chair with his arms folded, an irritated look on his face. The conversation abruptly went silent.  
  
“Oh, hey, kid,” Dr. Death said, then stopped at the look on Cherri’s face.  
  
“What the hell are you guys doing?” Cherri said.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Val said without looking up.  
  
“One of your teammates was just burning rubber on our parking lot,” Cherri said. “They threw their trash on the lot and drove off.”  
  
“Who are you talking about?” Volume said. “Wait. Hang on. Did they have green hair?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Volume laughed. “Oh, that’s just Vaya,” he said. “Don’t worry about them. They’re harmless.”  
  
“I don’t care, man,” Cherri said. “You’re not going to keep coming to the store and harassing us.”  
  
“Oh, come on,” Volume said. “That’s not harassment. Just driving around the parking lot?”  
  
“Shouting and throwing trash at us?” Cherri said. “Yeah. That’s harassment. I want you to stop this before it goes too far.”  
  
“Goes too far—man, what the hell do you think is going to happen?”  
  
“All right, all right,” Dr. Death interrupted. “Look. Val, tell Vaya not to mess around at the store anymore. It’s their property, they don’t need people throwing trash everywhere.”  
  
Val raised a hand in acknowledgement.  
  
“And Cherri, man—don’t come barging in here like that. When I first saw you, I thought Tom had just been shot or something.”  
  
“No, that’s next week,” Volume said. A few people laughed, but Cherri looked at him coldly.  
  
“Don’t joke about that,” Cherri said.  
  
Volume’s laughter died. “Cherri, I think you need to lighten up,” he said, reaching for a can of soda.  
  
“Yeah,” Cherri said. “Whatever. Don’t let this happen again.”  
  
“Or what?” Val said. “You’ll come back here and kill us?”  
  
A dark look passed over Cherri’s face. He glanced around the room, then turned to Dr. Death as if expecting him to speak. Dr. Death said nothing. Cherri shook his head in disgust, then marched out of the house, slamming the door behind him.  
  
“All right, that was a low blow,” Dr. Death said after a period of silence. “Don’t bring up his past like that.”  
  
“I want to know what his deal is, though,” Volume said. “I mean, you said he’d do anything for anybody.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Dr. Death said. “I know other kids we can talk to. There’s this group that lives out of that old diner, I don’t know if you’ve met them. They’ll probably be interested.”  
  
Volume nodded with his eyes lowered. “I guess I just misjudged him,” he said, taking a sip of his soda.  
  
Without Dr. Death’s advertisements, sales at the store began to decline. DJ agreed to advertise the store on her broadcasts, but stories had already began to circulate—Chow Mein had denied medicine to a sick baby, Cherri was a former Soldier for Peace. Customers that had once been friendly now avoided Cherri’s eye. Once Cherri caught another member of the Vs named Vamos trying to graffiti the side of the store. Dr. Death denied any knowledge of the event, but Cherri’s visits to Dr. Death’s house started to trickle off. Chow Mein’s interactions with him became increasingly few.  
  
On his broadcasts, Dr. Death urged Killjoys to work with the Ultra Vs, spread the word about the atrocities in the city, help people escape and try to smuggle supplies and messages through the border. After a month, the Vs had a short stack of memory chips in their closet. None of the techies could help them. A few thought they had figured it out, but when they inserted the new chip, the ancient body wouldn’t activate. Dr. Death called for the techies to do more research. The Vs also worked on getting human refugees out of the city, but every plan fell apart or was too complicated to perform.  
  
As the momentum rose, more people asked Chow Mein to use his city connections or donate supplies to the Vs. With every refusal, the general atmosphere grew more hostile toward him. The Vs encouraged people to buy from their trusted suppliers instead. Whenever Cherri listened to the radio, he heard talk of storming the city border, attacking the guards, liberating the androids. The word “Killjoy” appeared more and more often. A few businesses stopped selling to neutrals altogether.  
  
One day, after Chow Mein hadn’t spoken to Dr. Death for a few weeks, a woman stumbled inside the store. Her hands were hardened and calloused, with sand and dried blood crusted around her fingernails. Dry, stringy hair floated around her face. Her pregnant stomach bulged under her shirt. Chow Mein looked up from his records, then drew back. She stumbled over to the counter and slapped her hands on the desk.  
  
“You’re the first person I’ve seen in two days,” she said. “I need water. I’ve been digging all day and I couldn’t find anything. Just some muddy shit that made me throw up.”  
  
He hesitated, then handed her a water bottle. She ripped off the cap and gulped the water down, her throat pulsing. She dropped the empty bottle on the counter and wiped her mouth on her hand. Her movements were short and jerky. “Sorry,” she said. “I just—I need supplies real bad. My team abandoned me. They just left me out there on the road.”  
  
Cherri stepped out of the hallway with a box tucked under his arm. “Hey,” he said, heading over. “Do you need some help?”  
  
“I was just telling him that I need supplies,” the woman said. “My team ditched me. I’m eight months pregnant and they just ditched me on the side of the road.”  
  
“Oh, man,” Cherri said sympathetically. “I’m so sorry. Yeah, we can get you some supplies. Do you have any money on you?”  
  
“Nope,” she said. “All I’ve got is the clothes on me.”  
  
“No? Nothing you can trade?”  
  
“Nope. Nothing.”  
  
Cherri glanced at Chow Mein, knowing what he was thinking. Chow Mein sighed and looked away.  
  
“I can work it off,” the woman said. “I worked on a farm for a year. I’m used to heavy lifting.”  
  
“You shouldn’t be working in your condition,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Well, I’ve gotta do something,” she said, cracking her knuckles anxiously. “Sir, you can’t just tell me to leave. I’m eight months pregnant. I can’t keep going on like this.”  
  
“Why don’t I drive you to town?” Cherri said suddenly.  
  
“There’s a town near here?” she said.  
  
“Yeah, it’s not too far off. You want me to drive you? I’m sure someone’ll give you supplies.”  
  
“Yeah,” she said. “Oh, yeah. That’d be great.”  
  
“All right. Come on, I’ll run you over there. Tom, I’ll be right back,” he added over his shoulder. As he led her through the door, he said “So have you started thinking about baby names?”  
  
Chow Mein watched them leave, then turned back to his records. Several hours later, he stood at the counter, wiping grit off a set of plates that had passed through a sandstorm. Cherri folded a stack of sweaters. Suddenly they heard a pair of voices arguing at the doorway. Chow Mein looked up. He was about to tell Cherri to run them off when he realized that the voices were familiar.  
  
Pony hissed something to Dr. Death, then stormed back to the car. Dr. Death wheeled into the store, his chair casting a long shadow across the floor. His expression was grim. Chow Mein tucked the plate back in the box. “What is it, Steve?” he said.  
  
“I need to talk to you,” he muttered. “Can you close the door? I don’t want any customers wandering in.”  
  
Chow Mein held his gaze for a moment, then swept over to the entrance and locked the door. His footsteps seemed to echo in the silence. Dr. Death rubbed at his face as if something pained him.  
  
“Are you all right, D?” Cherri said.  
  
Dr. Death didn’t look up. Finally, he said “Tom, what the hell happened with this pregnant woman?”  
  
Chow Mein blinked. “Excuse me?” he said.  
  
“You know what I’m talking about. What happened with the pregnant woman that was in here today?”  
  
He looked away and made a confused gesture with his hands. “She came in, she asked for supplies, and Cherri drove her into town,” he said.  
  
“So it’s true that you didn’t give her anything?”  
  
“You gave her water, didn’t you?” Cherri said to Chow Mein.  
  
“But you wouldn’t give her anything else?” Dr. Death said. “You wouldn’t give her any food or supplies or anything even though she was obviously eight months pregnant?”  
  
“I don’t give supplies to people who can’t pay,” he said.  
  
“Jesus, Tom. Do you even listen to yourself speak at times? Do you feel any kind of guilt at all when you turn these people away?”  
  
“Of course I do,” he said in hushed tones.  
  
“Yeah, I’m real fucking sure. You know, Tom, I used to think that your behavior was just a by-product of the city, and you’d grow out of it eventually. But after almost twenty years—it’s not the city, man. It’s just you.”  
  
Chow Mein’s expression was hard. “Wait, hang on,” Cherri said. “Is she saying that we wouldn’t help her?”  
  
“Not in so many words, but I figured out what happened,” Dr. Death said. “Word got back to the Vs. It’s all over town.”  
  
Cherri groaned, stumbling back. “Jesus Christ,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“You know what, Tom—I don’t feel sorry for you,” Dr. Death said. “Because it’s your own damn fault.”  
  
“It’s his fault?” Cherri burst out. “No. You’ve been feeding into this, D. You must’ve known the Vs were spreading rumors about him, and you didn’t do anything.”  
  
“Yeah, but did they say a damn thing that wasn’t true?” he said. “Hell, I talked to that guy with the sick baby directly. The Vs all know about it.”  
  
“Is this what you talk about at your meetings?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“No, actually, we’ve done a hell of a lot of good work for the Zones,” Dr. Death said. “And we could’ve done a lot more, if you didn’t fight us at every turn.”  
  
“I have no responsibility to the androids,” he said.  
  
“Yeah. I know. Nothing’s ever your responsibility.”  
  
“Why are you doing this?” Cherri said suddenly. “You’ve cost us tons of sales, people are practically boycotting us—what did we do? Why do you think we deserve this?”  
  
“I thought you didn’t want people like the Vs hanging out at your store,” Dr. Death said. “Well, they won’t be now.”  
  
Chow Mein looked at him with disgust. “I don’t even recognize you,” he said.  
  
“The Vs have changed you, man,” Cherri said.  
  
“Yeah, well, you better watch where you’re throwing stones,” Dr. Death said. “Because I see more of Tom in you every day.”  
  
“You’re a child, Steve,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“I am?” he said, rubbing a hand across his face.  
  
“You’re a child trying to reclaim his former glory,” he said. “But you’ll never find what you had in the wars.”  
  
“What I had in the wars?” he said, lowering his hand. “Tom, you weren’t there, so don’t try to tell me what the fuck happened in the wars.”  
  
“You run off with anyone who promises some kind of rebellion,” he said. “It’s like you’re trying to make up for the wars. But the wars are over, Steve.”  
  
“I’m aware of that.”  
  
“You’re never going to be that soldier again,” he said. “You’re never going to be sixteen again. You’re a grown man hanging out with teenagers because he’s so desperate to reclaim his youth—”  
  
“Shut the fuck up, Tom,” Dr. Death said wearily.  
  
“What do you think the men at the veteran’s camp would think if they could see you?” he said. “You’re an embarrassment to them.”  
  
Something changed in Dr. Death’s expression, as if an invisible cord had been cut. He slowly looked up. “You know, Tom, I have to ask,” he said, shifting in his seat. “Abandoning a pregnant woman—isn’t that what your father did?”  
  
Chow Mein stared at him in stunned silence. Cherri’s mouth was open. He looked back and forth between the two men in shock.  
  
“Get out,” Chow Mein said, walking over to the door. “Just get out. I don’t want to see you again.”  
  
He unlocked the door and threw it open. Dr. Death wheeled out into the parking lot. The sun was beginning to set, casting a greyish shadow over the lot. Pony’s truck, pick-up shiny in the daytime, was dull as a used penny.  
  
Chow Mein closed the door. “Start sweeping the floor,” he said to Cherri. “I’ll start closing the office.”  
  
Cherri’s eyes followed him as he swept past. He wanted to reach out to him, say something, but Chow Mein had closed himself off. The broom scraped loudly against the floor in the silence. When he swept the dirt outside, he stood in the doorway for several minutes. Nothing moved outside except for a slight stirring of wind, rustling the grasses.  
  
“Well, Tom and I are done,” Dr. Death said to Volume. They sat in front of the campfire, Val holding a pot of stew over the fire. Pony sat several chairs away, not speaking to anyone. Dozens of stars dotted the sky.  
  
“You guys had a falling out?” Volume said.  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “We’re done. This shit with the pregnant woman was the last straw.”  
  
Volume patted his shoulder. After a few minutes, he said “I think we found somene who can take care of the androids.”  
  
“No kidding?”  
  
“Yeah. He’s a techie. He thinks he’s figured out how to wire the new chips to the bodies.”  
  
“Man, I hope so,” Dr. Death said. “I hate having those chips just sitting there.”  
  
“Yeah, me too,” Volume said. “He said he’s shooting for early next week.”  
  
“That’s great,” Dr. Death said. He settled back in the chair and toyed with the fire poker. “God, I hope this is over soon.”  
  
Nobody spoke for a few minutes. Val stirred the stew over the fire. The firelight danced off the steel pot.  
  
“You know, I’ve always suspected him ever since I heard about those ‘Crows visiting his house,” Volume said.  
  
“Eh, that wasn’t what it looked like,” Dr. Death said. “They finally released the report a while back. Apparently the bomber had that book in his supplies. They wanted him to translate it to see if it had anything to do with the bombing.”  
  
“I don’t know, man,” Volume said. “I just think it’s weird that they went specifically to him.”  
  
“He’s not a Scarecrow,” Dr. Death said. “He’s just…God, I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”  
  
He jabbed at the fire with the poker. The blackened wood crumbled in an avalanche of sparks.  
  
“Well, by next week we might finally have this whole thing rolling,” Volume said.  
  
“Yeah,” Dr. Death said. “We better.” He took the plate that Val offered him, then held it out while he dished out a helping of stew.  
  
\---  
  
Chow Mein was marking inventory in one of the back rooms when Cherri stormed inside, dropping a radio on the dresser. Chow Mein looked up. “What’s going on?” he said.  
  
Cherri wiped his forehead on the back of his hand. “You need to listen to this,” he said. He turned up the volume.  
  
“— _of our friends_ ,” the DJ said. “ _Looks like we’ve got one unit of three headed north. They’re probably about to hit Freyja Falls. If you’re a techie in the area, this is the time to lie low_ …”  
  
“The city’s onto the memory chips,” Cherri said. “They caught somebody in the city who was smuggling them out. Now they’re trying to figure out who’s behind it.”  
  
“They don’t know about the Vs?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Not yet,” Cherri said. “But someone’s probably going to give them away. They talked to everyone.”  
  
Chow Mein shook his head. “I hope this is the end of them,” he said. “I wouldn’t complain if they were all sent back to the city.”  
  
As the morning went on, the radio hummed constantly in the background. Chow Mein listened for any mention of the Vs, but the Dracs never visited them. They questioned techies around the area. One woman was arrested for trying to fight the Dracs, but no memory chips were found. Chow Mein called DJ’s workshop and warned her about the Dracs. She promised to stay alert.  
  
The morning passed into afternoon. Cherri thought once about radioing Dr. Death, but decided against it. As more interrogations were reported, the trickle of customers ceased altogether. People huddled in their houses. A few businesses in Sunburst closed down for the day. Chow Mein sighed as he counted the sales that evening. He closed the register, then suddenly looked up. D’s workshop had been mentioned on the radio.  
  
Chow Mein turned up the volume. “— _not looking good_ ,” the broadcaster said. “ _The whole unit’s inside the building. We don’t know what’s going on, but it’s safe to say that no one’s going in or out_ —”  
  
Cherri stopped sweeping and hurried over to the desk. They listened in silence as the broadcaster reported a Draculoid unit parked outside the workshop. No one was allowed inside, but rumors claimed that an old memory chip had been found in one of their toolboxes. The Dracs had been interrogating DJ and her co-workers for twenty minutes. One witness even claimed that there had been an arrest.  
  
Chow Mein switched off the radio. “I’m driving up there,” he said, heading to the office. “I’m going to tell them that the Vs are behind this.”  
  
“Wait!” Cherri said. “Hang on. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to get in the middle of this.”  
  
“Someone needs to tell them,” he said. “Their worthless asses aren’t going to do it themselves.”  
  
“I know, but I don’t want them to start questioning you. They’ll probably ask you how you know the Vs, and start asking you why you didn’t turn them in earlier…I know how Dracs work, man. You’re not going to get immunity.”  
  
He stopped in the doorway. “I can’t stand here and wait for them to arrest Kristan,” he said.  
  
Cherri looked down at the floor for a moment. “I’ll talk to them,” he said. “They’re probably headed for an arrest anyway. Maybe I’ll get them to turn themselves in.”  
  
“You’re going to talk to them?”  
  
“Yeah. I’ll drive over there.”  
  
“If you do that, I’m going with you,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“No offense, but I don’t think they’re going to listen to you,” Cherri said.  
  
“I don’t care,” he said. “I’ll make the call right in front of them if I have to. They’re not going to stand by and let Kristan get arrested for a crime she didn’t commit.”  
  
Evening was starting to settle over the desert like a cloud of dust when they reached the Nest. Chow Mein shoved past Vinyl when he opened the door, even though he was half a foot shorter than him. Cherri followed him into the kitchen, where the Vs were gathered around the table. They immediately looked up and fell silent. Their expressions were grim.  
  
“Tom, this is not the time,” Dr. Death said tersely. His hair hung limply against his face.  
  
“They’re interrogating Kristan,” Chow Mein said shortly.  
  
“I know,” he said. “We’re trying to figure something out.”  
  
“There’s nothing to figure out. Just turn yourselves in.”  
  
“We’re not doing that.”  
  
“Tom, I don’t recall inviting you over here to barge in and speak your mind,” Volume said, looking at him over the back of his chair.  
  
“He’s not wrong,” Cherri said, stepping forward. “Okay? Someone’s probably going to turn you in eventually. If you turn yourselves in, you might be able to negotiate.”  
  
Volume laughed humorlessly. “They’re not going to negotiate,” he said. “You of all people should know that.”  
  
“Would you rather go in on your own terms?” Cherri said. “Or would you rather have them take you by surprise? I’ve seen both methods, and trust me. The first one usually ends better.”  
  
“Cherri, we do not need assistance from either of you. Now go fuck off.”  
  
Cherri opened his mouth to respond, then stopped when he heard a creaking sound. Everyone turned around. Dr. Death dropped his face to his hands. Chow Mein stepped back, his throat tightening.  
  
An android had stepped into the room. The android’s body was cased in rusty metal that creaked like a suit of armor. The head was a metal hood that encased a smooth amber surface where the face should be. A light glowed dimly behind the amber glass.  
  
“As you can see, that complicates things,” Dr. Death said heavily. “We don’t know what the hell to do with him. No one’s going to take him when the Dracs are in the area.”  
  
“Shut it off and give it to the Dracs,” Chow Mein said.  
  
The android’s head turned toward him. He stepped back, a shiver washing over him. Cherri stepped in front of him and reached for his ray gun.  
  
“He’s not going to hurt you,” Dr. Death said. “Calm down.”  
  
“Tom’s right, D,” Cherri said cautiously. “He can’t stay out here. The Dracs are just going to find him.”  
  
“Cherri, if that ‘droid goes back to the city, he’s getting thrown in the scrap heap. We worked our asses off to get him out of the city to make sure that doesn’t happen.”  
  
“Is that android worth Kristan’s life?” Chow Mein said. “Is that thing worth risking her arrest?”  
  
“Tom, for God’s sake, she’s not going to be arrested. They’ll figure out that she wasn’t involved.”  
  
“When? Out here? Or after they take her back to the city for questioning?”  
  
“Jesus Christ, Tom,” Dr. Death said. “Can you just shut the hell up, for God’s sake? Can you shut your mouth for five fucking minutes?”  
  
“Do you care about Kristan at all, Steve?”  
  
“No, I don’t give a shit about Kristan, just like I don’t give a shit about you or Pony, either. All I care about is these fucking teenagers that I met in a bar. That’s what I hear, every day of my life. That’s what everyone tells me. _Jesus, D, why don’t you do the broadcast three times a day anymore? Are you off jerking off with the Ultra Vs, because that’s all you do, all day, every day—_ ”  
  
Shaking his head, Chow Mein whipped out his ray gun. Volume shouted “No!”, but he had already fired. A white light ripped through the android’s body. The android collapsed to the ground, sputtering and jerking. Chow Mein fired again. The android abruptly went still.  
  
Volume jumped out of his seat. “You son of a bitch,” he roared. “You goddamn son of a bitch—”  
  
Before he could react, Volume’s fist smashed into his face. Shouting incomprehensibly, Volume grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head against the wall. Pain flashed through his skull like a shockwave. In a whirlwind of shouts and clawing hands, he was suddenly freed, with Cherri shoving Volume aside. In a flash, Cherri kicked the back of Volume’s knees and forced him to the ground, then aimed his ray gun at the back of his head. Volume raised his hands.  
  
Cherri gritted his teeth, breathing hard. “Stand up,” he said.  
  
Volume slowly stood up. His hands shook with anger. The stench of smoke rose from the crumpled android on the floor.  
  
“Stand over there,” he said, gesturing with his gun to a corner of the kitchen. Volume walked over to the kitchen, glowering as if Chow Mein had just slaughtered his entire team.  
  
“You okay, Tom?” Cherri said.  
  
White-hot pain shot through the bridge of his nose, but he nodded. When he turned to face them, he was met with shock and cold stares. Dr. Death’s face was frozen in shock. Val watched the scene with an almost excited look on his face.  
  
“Either turn yourselves in, or I will,” he said.  
  
No one responded. He tucked his gun inside his jacket, then stepped over the android and crossed the living room to the doorway, with Cherri following behind. The front door slammed shut.


	31. Chapter 31

“If I ever see Tommy again, I’m going to beat his ass,” Volume said.  
  
Val, Volume, and Dr. Death slumped in the living room. Val slouched back against the couch with his feet on the table, tugging on a strip of rubber with his teeth. Volume sat next to him with his arms folded. Dr. Death was parked in front of the table. He wearily rubbed his face as if he had a headache.  
  
“Sure you are,” Val said.  
  
“I’m serious,” Volume said. “I’ll curb stomp his ass. Break his fucking jaw.”  
  
“You don’t really want to do that,” Dr. Death said. “Don’t talk like that.”  
  
“You think I’m joking? The only reason I haven’t is that I know Cherri would come back here and whoop my ass.”  
  
Val laughed. “Cherri’s a fucking psycho,” he said.  
  
“I know,” Volume said. “Dude’s got some serious daddy issues. He’s probably hoping that they’ll fuck in one of those back rooms.”  
  
After a brief moment of levity, they sank back against the couch. Their expressions darkened. A few days ago, Vaya and Vamos had been caught trying to leave the memory chips in an unmarked box in front of the workshop. They took credit for the android smuggling operation—Dr. Death suspected that it was because they wanted the glory and attention. The rest of the Vs quickly backed up their claim when the Dracs questioned them. No one expected them to stay in the city for long. But the shadow of absence had been cast over the house.  
  
“Hey, what’s the name of that woman who got rid of the guy that was harassing the Lightning Bugs?” Volume said.  
  
“Madame Rose,” Val said in a fancy voice.  
  
“No kidding. Was that seriously her name?”  
  
“What are you two planning?” Dr. Death interrupted.  
  
“I think we need to get Tommy the hell out of here,” Volume said. “He’s just going to keep causing problems.”  
  
“Yeah, but what’s this woman going to do? Is she going to take him out and shoot him in the back of the head?”  
  
Volume laughed. “No, no,” he said. “She’s not a hit man, D. She just relocates people.”  
  
“So—kidnapping?” he said. “How do we know she’s going to drop him off alive?”  
  
“We know people who have worked with her, man. She’s not a killer.”  
  
Dr. Death shook his head. “I don’t care,” he said. “I don’t like the sound of this. Whatever he’s done, he doesn’t deserve that.”  
  
Val and Volume exchanged looks. “Well, I guess we’ll have to do it ourselves,” Volume said.  
  
“What do you mean, do it yourselves?”  
  
“I mean—we can do it, can’t we?” Volume said to Val. “As long as Cherri’s not around. I know Tom’s not going to be kicking our asses.”  
  
“I don’t see why we can’t,” Val said.  
  
“Wait, hang on,” Dr. Death said. “ _You’re_ going to kidnap him?”  
  
“If you don’t want an outsider doing it, we’ll do it ourselves,” Volume said. “We’ll just grab him and drop him off at one of the neutral towns around here.”  
  
Dr. Death laughed. “What’s going to stop him from coming back?”  
  
“He knows that we’ll beat his ass if he does,” Volume said. At the look on Dr. Death’s face, he said “Look, I’m not playing around anymore. He killed 83-C, he got Cherri against us, and he’s basically been interfering with our plans since the beginning. Do you know how smoothly this whole thing could have gone if he hadn’t been around? Hell, I’m not convinced that he didn’t have something to do with the city suddenly finding out about us.”  
  
Dr. Death’s first instinct was to argue, but he was too tired to speak. He thought of Chow Mein’s refusal to help people that he thought were beneath him, the emotionless look on his face when he shot the android, as if he were merely shooting an inanimate object. His voice rang through Dr. Death’s head. _What do you think the men at the veteran’s camp would think if they could see you? You’re an embarrassment to them.  
  
_ “I know you guys used to be friends, but—I don’t think he cares about you, man,” Volume said. “He only cares about one person, and that’s himself.”  
  
Dr. Death closed his eyes and nodded. His mind seemed to be slowing down with exhaustion. He felt like he would agree with almost anything the Vs suggested, if it meant that they wouldn’t push him.  
  
“If you’re going to do it, just get it over with,” he said. “Do it before he starts getting fall orders.”  
  
Volume tucked his hands behind his head. “It won’t take long, man,” he said. “Trust me.”  
  
\---  
  
The first hints of cool autumn air lingered in the breeze. Chow Mein’s transmitter buzzed as he pulled off fliers that had been taped to the front windows. “Hello?” he said absently. He tore off the last flier, then dropped them in the recycling bin near the doorway.  
  
“ _Yeah, hey_ ,” Dr. Death said in a tired voice, as if he’d just woken up. “ _It’s me_.”  
  
Chow Mein looked up and closed his eyes. “What do you want?” he said, stepping into the shade of the roof that hung over the entrance.  
  
“ _Pony and I got our hands on some radio equipment_ ,” Dr. Death said in the same weary tone. “ _It’s pretty high-quality stuff, hasn’t been used much. We were thinking you might want to take a look at it_.”  
  
“I thought you only dealt with Killjoys,” he said.  
  
“ _Look, I’ve been calling around everywhere, and no one will take it_ ,” he said. “ _Most people either don’t have the space, or they work out of their cars and can’t haul this around everywhere. It’s not like the usual clothes and shit you find at the market. You’re the only one who can take it_.”  
  
“I’m not interested. Call the techies.”  
  
“ _Again, Tom, I have called techies. Nobody wants this shit. You think it’s easy to get rid of two hundred pounds of radio equipment?_ ”  
  
“I’m not interested, either. I don’t need more worthless junk sitting around in the back rooms.”  
  
“ _Worthless junk?_ _Tom, we’re probably talking over a hundred carbons’ worth of radio equipment. Do you think that’s worthless? Because I know you’re not making that kind of money._ ”  
  
Chow Mein stopped. He leaned his head against the doorway, then rubbed a hand across his face.  
  
“What’s the model year?” he said.  
  
“ _I don’t know, it’s all thrown together. But most of it looks pretty recent. Probably made within the last ten years_.”  
  
“Fine,” he said. “Bring it over here.”  
  
“ _Tom, I told you, we’re talking two hundred pounds worth of equipment. I can’t just drive it over there_.”  
  
“Are you asking me to drive to your house?”  
  
“ _Yeah. That’d be preferable_.”  
  
He held back a sigh. “I can’t step away from the store right now,” he said. “Just hang on to it. Don’t sell it until I contact you.”  
  
“ _All right, fine_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _Just get over here when you can. Pony wants it out of here. He said he’s sick of looking at it_.”  
  
The call ended. While he waited for Cherri to return from the delivery, he sorted the papers, bottles, and cans in the recycling bin, silently arguing to himself. Half an hour later, Cherri’s car pulled up to the store. He jumped out of the car, carrying an empty crate.  
  
“Hey,” Cherri said on the way to the hallway. “How’s it going?”  
  
“I got a call from Steve,” Chow Mein said, straightening a stack of papers. “He said that he wants to sell some radio equipment.”  
  
Cherri stopped. “Are you serious?” he said.  
  
“He called me half an hour ago,” he said. “He said that he has about a hundred carbons’ worth of equipment. Most of it from the past ten years.”  
  
“He’s not selling his equipment, is he?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“Did he say where he got it?”  
  
“No, he didn’t. He just said that Pony’s tired of looking at it.”  
  
“I thought he didn’t sell to neutrals,” Cherri said.  
  
“I know,” Chow Mein said. “He claimed that no one else will take it.”  
  
Cherri pressed his lips together. He gripped the crate, drumming his fingertips on the edge. “I don’t know if I trust this, man,” he said. “I don’t want us to drive over there and walk into a nest of Vs.”  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Chow Mein said. “That wouldn’t surprise me. They’re probably all gathered at his house right now.”  
  
“What do you want to do?” Cherri said.  
  
He cracked his knuckles, then shook his head, almost to himself. “I’ll tell him that I’m not interested,” he said. “There’s no reason for me to go over there.”  
  
Cherri nodded with his eyes lowered. Chow Mein reached for his transmitter.  
  
“Hello?” he said. “Steve?”  
  
“ _Yeah? What is it?_ ”  
  
“I’m not interested,” he said.  
  
“ _Are you serious?_ ” he said. “ _You’re not interested in a hundred carbons’ worth of equipment?_ ”  
  
“No, I’m not.”  
  
“ _Tom. Come on_.”  
  
“If you want to sell it, find a way to bring it to the store,” he said. “I’m not driving to your house.”  
  
“ _What? Because we had that argument?_ ”  
  
“Steve. I’m not interested.”  
  
“ _Tom, just listen to me for a second_ —”  
  
“Steve. For God’s sake. I’m not buying your equipment.”  
  
Dr. Death let out a sigh that came out as a rush of static. It seemed to Chow Mein that the sigh was too long, too heavy for someone who had merely lost out on a sale.  
  
“ _Fine_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _Whatever_.” Chow Mein swore that he heard voices in the background before the transmission abruptly cut out.  
  
Cherri shot him a sympathetic look. Chow Mein raised his eyebrows, then fished a bottle out of the recycling bin.  
  
“Go see if there’s any jackets left in the back rooms,” he said.  
  
“Will do,” Cherri said, hurrying off with the crate.  
  
The next two hours passed quietly. Chow Mein placed a few orders on the radio, then helped a customer who was searching for a compass. Cherri talked to customers and arranged items on the shelves. As afternoon shifted into evening, a single customer wandered inside, asking about a handheld Geiger counter. While Chow Mein spoke to her, he kept an eye on the windows. He had the strange feeling that the same car kept driving past the store.  
  
When she left, he started closing the register. Cherri pulled the curtains over the windows. As Chow Mein counted the money, a familiar engine rumbled outside. He stopped counting and looked up. Footsteps sounded outside. He straightened the stack of carbons and tucked them in the metal lockbox.  
  
A shadow cast across the floor as Dr. Death wheeled inside. For an instant, Chow Mein thought he had brought the equipment. But Vinyl lumbered behind him, followed by Val and Volume, their figures blocking the doorway. Fear washed over him like a gush of cold water over his body. He shakily reached for the ray gun inside his jacket. Cherri grabbed his gun just as the Vs whipped out their ray guns, stepping around Dr. Death.  
  
“Don’t even try it,” Volume said. “There’s three of us and two of you. And I know Tommy’s not going to hit a moving target.”  
  
“What the hell do you want from us?” Cherri said.  
  
“Cherri, just give it up,” Dr. Death said. “It’s over.”  
  
“What? What’s over?” He looked wildly at Dr. Death, but received no response. “What’s over? What the hell are you talking about?”  
  
“Vinyl, just grab him,” Volume said.  
  
Vinyl barreled toward him. Cherri shouted and fired, stumbling back. A burst of light flashed through the air. Vinyl grabbed him and wrestled his struggling body like a snake suffocating a rabbit, then threw him over his shoulder. Cherri grabbed the doorframe as Vinyl carried him outside. Val pried his hands off. “Run!” Cherri shouted, straining to look back. “Tom! Run!”   
  
Chow Mein darted toward the back door, but Volume jumped forward like a bat swooping out of midair. He grabbed him and slammed his head against the counter, then pressed the muzzle of his ray gun to the back of his head. “Drop your weapon,” Volume said. The gun clattered to the floor. Volume pulled him up by the collar, then shoved him toward the front door, pressing the gun against his back.  
  
“Come on,” Volume said. “Move it. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”  
  
Dr. Death watched almost indifferently. When Chow Mein glanced at him, he turned away. Chow Mein gritted his teeth. Burning fury welled inside him. Volume pushed him outside and shoved him into the backseat of the car, then held the gun to his head while Val started the engine.  
  
“Be quiet,” Volume said. “Don’t speak. Don’t say anything.”  
  
The desert rolled past the windows in a blur. As the car moved faster, panic rose fast and overwhelming, as if they were speeding toward a camp set ablaze. His throat tightened. He gripped the door handle.  
  
“Hey,” Volume said. “The doors are locked. Don’t try to break out.”  
  
“Is he trying to break out?” Val said from the driver’s seat. “You better calm the fuck down back there, Tommy.”  
  
Val drove several miles, occasionally smiling to himself as if were taking an afternoon drive. Chow Mein tried to memorize landmarks: road signs, boulders, clusters of trees. His system was flushed with panic, like a rising tide swallowing the coastline. As the sun crept toward the mountains, he flashed back to the ride years ago with the Dracs: the blue glow from the dashboard, the dark orange light on the horizon at sunset, the Dracs’ voices sounding muffled and distant as if he were underwater. He felt dizzy and light-headed.  
  
Sddenly the car screeched to a halt, lurching them forward. Volume grabbed his arm and pushed him back against the seat. “Are we here?” Volume said.  
  
“We’re here,” Val said.  
  
“All right, listen,” Volume said, shifting his attention. “This is what’s going to happen. You’re just outside of Peachtree. They’re neutrals. They’ll accept you. Stay there, even if your connections come calling, even if Cherri shows up or whatever. Don’t let us see you around Sunburst again. Do you hear me?”  
  
“Yes,” Chow Mein said.   
  
Volume reached over him and opened the door. “Go on,” he said. “Get out of here.”  
  
Chow Mein stumbled out onto the side of the road. Val grinned and flashed him a salute, then turned the car around while Volume pulled the door shut. The car rattled down the highway until it was nothing but a gleaming point on the horizon. The engine petered out into the distance. Black streaks lingered on the highway, along with the smell of exhaust smoke.  
  
Orange light cast across the highway. The air was silent except for the breeze through the grasses. Chow Mein suddenly realized that he was shaking. He took a deep breath and shook out his hands, trying to shake off the weak, tingly feeling. He pushed his sweaty hair back. The last rays of sunlight beat down on the back of his head. He slipped off his jacket and draped it over his arm, then started down the highway, his shadow stretching across the pavement.  
  
Before long, the air started to cool. Shadows lengthened and disappeared into the rapidly growing darkness. The sun flared streaks of pink and orange, then disappeared. The desert around him was bluish. He slipped back into his jacket, scanning the landscape. He walked down the highway until a huddled shape appeared in the darkness: a small black mound, like a sleeping animal.  
  
His heart pounded as he hurried closer, practically running down the highway. An aluminum shack came into view. Stacks of tires, oil drums, scrap metal, and the rusty shells of cars were piled around the shack. A woman with her hair tied back in a bandana was folding her lawn chair. She looked up when she heard his footsteps.  
  
“We’re closed,” she said. “You’re going to have to come back tomorrow.”  
  
“I’m not here to buy anything,” he said. “I need a ride to Peachtree.”  
  
“I don’t give rides,” she said. “This isn’t a bus stop.”  
  
“I’ll pay you,” he said. “Eight carbons for a twenty-minute drive.”  
  
She raised her eyebrows. “Eight carbs for twenty minutes? Are you serious?”  
  
“You know as well as I do that I can’t be walking down the highway at night.”  
  
She tucked the chair under her arm. “All right, if you’re sure,” she said. “Just give me a minute. I’ll grab my keys.”  
  
She stepped inside the pitch-black shack. While Chow Mein waited, he spotted something gleaming on one of the oil drums. A sudden vision appeared in his mind. He took a deep breath, then tucked it inside his jacket. He folded his arms. The object was cold against his side.  
  
The woman stepped out, keys dangling from her hand. “I’m sorry,” Chow Mein said as he walked to the car. “I misspoke. I need a ride to Sunburst.”  
  
“Sunburst?” she said, flipping through the keys. “Are you sure? That’s rebel territory.”  
  
“Yes, I’m sure,” he said.  
  
“All right. It’s your decision.”  
  
Stars appeared in the sky as she drove him back to Sunburst. Following his directions, she parked on the side of a road outside of town. The trees and boulders appeared black against the sky. The car’s headlights cast across the highway.  
  
“This your stop?” she said.  
  
“Yes, it is,” he said. “Thank you.”  
  
He stepped out of the car, the wind cutting across his face like a sheet of glass. He walked down the road for a few minutes until a house appeared several yards away. A candle glowed in one of the back windows. He crept to the back of the house, then inched along the side. He peered around the corner. A single pick-up truck was parked in front of the property. He swept up to the porch and started up the stairs, then jumped when he heard a familiar voice.  
  
“Hey,” said the voice said. “Hey! What the fuck—”  
  
Pony lunged toward him. With a surge of adrenaline, Chow Mein shoved him aside, then opened the door and marched into the house. He reached into his jacket, feeling the cool, hard metal in his hand. Dr. Death looked up from the kitchen table. His face went white with fear.  
  
“No,” he said. “Oh God, no, Tom, please—”  
  
Ignoring him, Chow Mein swept down the hallway. He threw open the door to the radio room, then took a deep, shaky breath. Stacks of equipment lay in front of him. He raised the crowbar like a baseball bat, then smashed it into one of the consoles. Knobs flew off, the screen cracked. He hacked at the console until the crowbar ripped through the casing, exposing the wires, then smashed one of the speakers. Violent fury ripped through his body. He smashed screens, tore through wires, ripped the consoles to hunks of dangling metal and frayed wires. Pony howled as if he were being tortured.  
  
He beat the equipment until fuses popped and sparks flew. Pieces of glass and metal rained on the desk. Once Pony tried to wrestle the crowbar out of his hands, but he shoved him to the ground. He cracked the DJ turntable, smashed a tiny TV screen, crushed levers and dials. Knobs popped off and rolled around on the floor. Finally, the radio equipment lay heaped and scattered in glittering pieces. Wires spilled out, ripped and frayed. Computer chips were broken in chunks.  
  
The fury that had possessed him seemed to drain away. He dropped the crowbar and stumbled back, suddenly hit with a wave of dizziness and nausea. His hair was stuck to his face with sweat. He pushed his hair back, then turned around to see Dr. Death staring at him in the doorway. They held eye contact for several moments. Neither of them spoke. Then Chow Mein pushed past him and staggered into the hallway, with Pony’s sobs carrying through the house.  
  
The night air felt bitingly cold against his skin. He stumbled blindly across the road and staggered up a hill, the dry grasses brushing against his legs. Dozens of stars crowded the sky. He sank to his knees at the top of the hill, then cradled his face in his hands. The cries of insects surrounded him.


	32. Chapter 32

**2014  
  
** Dr. Death wheeled slowly down the aisle. The tables were lined with boxes and crates of vegetables: small tomatoes, bristly carrots, potatoes with thick, twisted roots. Pony turned a beet around in his hands, then dropped it in the box, frowning. The white tent rippled over their heads in the wind.  
  
“All right, what do you think?” Dr. Death said. “Do you feel like carrots? We haven’t had carrots in a while.”  
  
“I hate carrots,” Pony said.  
  
“What? No, you don’t.”  
  
“You weren’t there when Newsie made those steamed carrots,” Pony said. “They were horrible.”  
  
“All right, whatever. What about peas? You like peas, don’t you?”  
  
“Nope. I hate them.”  
  
“For God’s sake, Pony, are there any vegetables that you like?” He picked up a mushroom. “What about this? Will you eat this?”  
  
Pony didn’t respond. His eyes were on something near the front of the market. He turned away, then leaned toward Dr. Death’s chair. “Look who’s here,” he murmured.  
  
Dr. Death strained to see through the crowd near the cashier. Suddenly a tall man in a military vest stepped out of the crowd, tucking his wallet in the bag that hung over his shoulder. His dark hair was streaked with grey. He hitched the bag over his shoulder and headed to his car.  
  
“Shit,” Dr. Death muttered. Suddenly he backed away from the table and wheeled out of the tent, as if Pony had dared him. He followed Cherri to his car with Pony hurrying behind him, the basket swinging from his arm. “Hey!” Dr. Death said. “Hey. Cherri.”  
  
Cherri was unlocking his car. He smiled politely and looked up, then stopped, the smile frozen on his face. He straightened and folded his arms.  
  
“Hey,” he said uncomfortably. “How’s it going?”  
  
“Not too bad,” Dr. Death said. “We’re just picking up some dinner for tonight. How’s it going with you?”  
  
“Not bad,” Cherri said. “I’m on a supply run.”  
  
“That’s good. How’s the store? How’s Tom?”  
  
“He’s fine,” Cherri said.  
  
“Is he?”  
  
“Yeah. He’s doing good.”  
  
“That’s good.” Dr. Death tapped the armrest of his chair. “Hey, would you be interested in having dinner with us tonight?”  
  
“I—I don’t think so,” Cherri said.  
  
“You can totally come over,” Pony said. “It’s no big deal. We’re having stew.”  
  
“Actually, I’ve gotta get going,” Cherri said, opening the car door. “It was nice seeing you guys again.”  
  
“Nice talking to you,” Dr. Death said. “Hey, any time you want to come over, you just let me know. We’re always open to visitors.”  
  
Cherri nodded cautiously, then climbed into the car. He avoided their eyes as he started the engine. Dr. Death sighed and exchanged looks with Pony. They turned back to the tent and squeezed through the crowd that was gathering around the tables.  
  
That night, they invited Newsie over for dinner. They sat around the table with a lantern flickering in the center. The smell of cooked vegetables filled the air. Newsie scraped the marrow out of the soup bone and ate it, making Pony wince. Blankets were hung over the windows to keep out the chill.  
  
“Pony and I ran into Cherri today,” Dr. Death said.  
  
“Cherri?” Newsie said, holding a forkful of food to her mouth.  
  
“Cherri Cola. Tom’s employee. He used to live here for a while.”  
  
“Oh!” she said. “Of course. That’s right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”  
  
“Yeah, it was awkward as hell,” Dr. Death said. “He didn’t have much to say. We invited him here for dinner, but he wasn’t interested.”  
  
“Maybe he just had other plans,” Newsie said, reaching for a piece of bread.  
  
“Oh, no,” Pony said. “You could tell. He wanted to get the hell out of there.”  
  
“Did he?” Newsie said. “I’m sorry.” She looked at them sympathetically.  
  
“Eh, it is what it is,” Dr. Death said. “It’s just…” He laughed humorlessly. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t burned so many bridges around here.”  
  
“It happens to everyone,” Newsie said. “Kristan and I…what’s her name now? Hot Chimp? I haven’t seen her in years.”  
  
“I haven’t seen my old friends in years, either,” Pony said. “I bet some of them don’t even know what happened to me.”  
  
“Yeah, but you just kind of drifted apart,” Dr. Death said. “I mean, Kristan and I are done, Tom and I are done, Cherri and I are done, the Vs and I are done—not that they’re worth mentioning.”  
  
Newsie looked at him sadly. “Well, who knows what’ll happen,” she said, stirring her stew. “I never thought I’d see you again, either.”  
  
Dr. Death shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Oh well. It doesn’t matter. Did you ever find out what was going on with those gang fights in Zone Three?”  
  
As the chill of winter settled over the desert, Dr. Death and Pony spent more time indoors, canning and storing the food that they’d managed to grow in the garden. Occasionally Newsie went hunting and came back with a rabbit or a blackbird. Kobra Kid, a close friend of Cherri’s and part of the gang of Killjoys that lived in the diner, delivered supplies to the property. They bundled up with a heater at night. Whenever they woke up the next morning, the grasses were crusted with frost.  
  
Dr. Death’s radio show steadily gained listeners. He shared news reports from Newsie, played music that other Killjoys brought him, and gave updates on the environment and weather. Kobra collected cassette tapes in town every week before his delivery. Occasionally people gave him donations, like a patchwork quilt with a rainbow-colored star in the middle. Pony bundled himself up inside it like a sausage roll.  
  
The days passed quietly, with few visitors. Often they saw no one but Newsie for days on end. Dr. Death was melting ice over the fire one morning when Newsie’s truck pulled up to the house. She stepped out of the truck, bundled in a jacket and scarf. Dr. Death was about to greet her, then stopped when he saw the look on her face.  
  
“You better come over,” she said. “Something just happened. It’s bad, D."  
  
\---  
  
Chow Mein sat at the desk in his bedroom, a lantern glowing in front of him. He wore a thick coat and boots, but the cold still pricked at his skin. A chill radiated from the window. Books and papers were stacked on the desk, like the office at the store.  
  
“ _Tom, do you ever read the newspaper?_ ” Anne Marie said over the transmitter. “ _The city newspaper? Not the ones they’ve got in the desert_.”  
  
“I read it occasionally,” he said.  
  
“ _Have you read the latest issue?_ ”  
  
“No, I haven’t.”  
  
Anne Marie drew in a deep breath. “ _Tom, I need to tell you something_ ,” she said. “ _There was a man in the obituaries last week. His name was Adam Hernandez_.”  
  
“That doesn’t sound familiar,” he said.  
  
“ _No, I wouldn’t think so_ ,” she said. “ _But the paper said he was found dead last week. When I visited his unit, his roommate said that he shot himself_.”  
  
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Chow Mein said. “Is this someone that you knew? I don’t recognize the name.”  
  
“ _I wouldn’t expect you to_ ,” she said. “ _But he was someone that I knew, yes. I think_ …” She took a deep breath. “ _Tom, I think he was your father_.”  
  
Chow Mein didn’t respond. He sat in stunned silence.  
  
“ _His name was Adam_ ,” she said, her voice wavering. “ _I don’t remember much about your father, but I remember that. His roommate said that he talked about the wars sometimes. He didn’t say much, but he talked about living at an old drive-in. And you know that’s where I met your father. We met at one of the old drive-ins, where he was living with his parents..._ ”  
  
“I know,” he said. Her voice seemed fuzzy and distant.  
  
“ _It’s been so long_ ,” she said. _“But when I saw that picture, I recognized him immediately. Of course, he was much older, but that teenage boy was still there. I even saw a bit of you in him. I mean, God knows you take after my side of the family, but_ …”  
  
He rubbed a hand across his face. “Mother, you don’t know that this man was my father,” he said. His voice was tired.  
  
“ _Tom, if you don’t believe me, get a copy of the paper_ ,” she said. “ _The resemblance is there. And believe me, I wish that it hadn’t happened this way, but…good Lord, I hated him for so long for abandoning us. Maybe he was looking for us all this time._ ”  
  
“I don’t believe that,” he said. “If he had been looking for us, he would have found us.”  
  
“ _I don’t know_ ,” she said. “ _His roommate said that he never mentioned having a child. Or a family. But she said that he was a very depressed person. He was always talking about his regrets. He said that he was separated from his parents—you know that Adam lived with them at the drive-in—and the winter was hard, it was so hard, he couldn’t even talk about it_ …”  
  
He was silent for a few moments. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll call you back next month. I need to process this.”  
  
“ _Of course_ ,” she said. “ _I’m sorry to drop this on you, I just—I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want you to find out by seeing it one day in the newspaper_.”  
  
“I know,” he said.  
  
When the call was over, he stood up in the cool air. He paced slowly for a few minutes. He flipped through the papers on his desk, but the most recent newspaper was dated a month ago. He sat down at the desk and cradled his face in his hands. Newspaper headlines were faintly visible in the dark: _Neon District Woman Wins 3,000c In Lottery._ The lantern was starting to dim, the light shrinking.  
  
The next morning, he opened the store at 6 A.M. The merchandise was cool to the touch, as if it had frozen solid overnight. Cherri stumbled inside, rubbing his eyes. They unpacked boxes in silence. After folding a table of clothes, Cherri leaned against the desk and unscrewed his water bottle.  
  
“Hey,” Cherri said quietly. “Is everything okay?”  
  
Chow Mein looked at him in surprise. “Yes, I’m fine,” he said.  
  
Cherri nodded. “I just thought you seemed kind of down,” he said. “I mean, I know it’s early in the morning, but you’re usually not this quiet.”  
  
He took a breath, then rested the box he was carrying on the desk. “I spoke to my mother last night,” he said. “She thinks that she’s located my father.”  
  
Cherri’s eyes widened. “Seriously?” he said. “Where is he?”  
  
“He’s dead,” Chow Mein said. “He shot himself last week.”  
  
Cherri’s face fell. “Oh my God,” he said. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry, man.”  
  
Chow Mein shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “He wasn’t my father. I never met him.”  
  
“It’s still hard hearing that, though, isn’t it?” Cherri said. “My parents and I weren’t close, but when I found out about my dad, I…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, there’s nobody like your parents.”  
  
Chow Mein nodded. “She said that the obituary was in this week’s edition of _The Battery City Times_ ,” he said. “Keep an eye out for it. If you find one, let me know.”  
  
“Of course,” Cherri said.  
  
They searched the markets throughout the week, but every newspaper they found was outdated. Finally, Chow Mein had the idea to visit the recycler. She searched through her stacks of papers until she found a recent copy of _The Battery City Times_ , one with the date he had been looking for. He thanked her and paid her two carbons. Back at his house, he tucked the newspaper in a desk drawer. The paper seemed to weigh heavily against the bottom of the drawer, like a lead weight. He felt a jolt every time he opened the drawer until he finally stowed it on the top shelf of his closet.  
  
\---  
  
The shrubs and grasses around the store were grey and brambly. Winds swept through the grasses and ruffled the fliers on the windows. The air was sharp and cool. Chow Mein was marking prices on cans of fuel when his transmitter buzzed. “Hello?” he said, not taking his eyes off the fuel.  
  
“ _Hey_ ,” said a familiar voice. “ _It’s me. Steve_.”  
  
He abruptly stopped writing. For a few moments, his mind went blank. “What do you want?” he said finally.  
  
“ _I need to talk to you_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _Tom, I know you don’t trust me, but I want you to come over to the house._ ”  
  
Chow Mein laughed harshly. “No,” he said. “No, I’m not doing that.”  
  
“ _This isn’t a trap, man. I swear_. _I just don’t want to tell you this over the radio._ ”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere near your house,” he said. “If I see you at the store, I’ll lock the doors.”  
  
“ _Tom, just listen to me, man. This morning, there was an explosion at the Ruby District_.”  
  
He froze as if he’d just heard a siren in the distance. The familiar chill rippled down his spine. He took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself.  
  
“How do I know that you’re telling the truth?” he said.  
  
“ _The news will probably hit the airwaves in an hour_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _Just listen to the radio. I just…I thought you should know_.”  
  
Chow Mein switched off the transmitter. He gripped the edge of the desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose, then lifted the radio from under the counter. He flipped through the stations. Bursts of static, music, and conversation alternated through the speakers.  
  
“Hey,” Cherri said, entering the room with a blanket tucked under his arm. “Are you looking for something?”  
  
He stepped back and took a breath. “Steve just called me,” he said. “He claimed that there was an explosion in the Ruby District.”  
  
Cherri’s eyes widened. “An explosion?” he said. “Like—a bomb?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Chow Mein said. “It could have been a bomb. Could have been a gas leak.”  
  
“Do you know someone who lives there?”  
  
“My mother,” he said.  
  
“Oh, no,” Cherri said. “I’m so sorry. Is there any way you could contact her?”  
  
“There’s a line that opens once a month,” Chow Mein said. “I spoke to her two weeks ago.”  
  
Cherri leaned against the desk, concern written across his face. Chow Mein left the radio on while he worked. After an hour, the reports started to flow in. An explosion had rattled a street corner in the Ruby District in Battery City. Some reports claimed that three people were dead, while others said eight. No names had been released.  
  
As he priced a box of kindling, Chow Mein tried to focus on his work, but his mind always wandered back to the explosion. The reports hung in the back of his mind like an incessant hum. He tried to shake it off, but the strain became so great that Cherri finally found him standing outside on the sidewalk, watching the highway.  
  
“Hey,” Cherri said. “Are you okay, man?”  
  
Chow Mein turned around. “Yes, I’m fine,” he said.  
  
“Do you want me to take over the desk?”  
  
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said. “Bring out a few more blankets from the back. I think they’ll sell well in this weather.”  
  
“Yeah. Definitely.”  
  
The sky was blotted out with grey clouds. The wind blew thin waves of sand across the highway. Cherri folded his arms, bracing himself against the cold wind.  
  
“I guess I’ll get started,” Cherri said. “Just—let me know if you need anything.”  
  
Chow Mein nodded. After a few minutes, he glanced at the road one last time before heading back inside, stashing the radio under the counter. Neither of them mentioned the explosion for the rest of the shift. The trees were turning bluish in late afternoon light when Cherri stepped out of the hallway, clutching his transmitter.  
  
“I just got a call from Poison,” he said. “He said they confirmed it was a bomb. They’re sending Dracs out to the desert.”  
  
Chow Mein looked up. “Who told him that?” he said.  
  
“Dr. D. He’s doing a broadcast about it now.”  
  
Chow Mein grabbed the radio and switched it on. “— _as far as I can tell_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _They’ll probably be here in about an hour. If you’re on the road right now, get off and find a place to stay_ —”  
  
Chow Mein swore under his breath. “All right, start locking the doors,” he said, handing him the keys. “We need to get out of here.”  
  
They rushed through the store, locking the doors, closing the register, grabbing files, pulling curtains over the windows. Cherri insisted on following him back to his house. As soon as they were inside, he locked the doors and drew the curtains. The light was rapidly dimming outside. Cherri sat on the couch, fiddling with the radio.  
  
“How much you want to bet that they’re going to shut off communications again?” Cherri said.  
  
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Chow Mein said. He lit a lantern, careful not to hold it in front of the windows. He sat down across from Cherri. The radio reflected the gold firelight.  
  
“Man, I hope Jet and Kobra don’t get stuck on the road,” Cherri said. “Poison said they were going on a supply run today.”  
  
“Were they?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Yeah. All the way to Greenberry. In some areas, it’s just empty desert for miles. No place to pull over.”  
  
He sighed and laced his fingers together. The radio broadcaster repeated a warning to stay inside and keep the doors locked. Cherri tried another station, but static hissed from the speakers. He turned the knob back and forth. More static. He stood up and paced in front of the back windows until he saw Chow Mein watching him.  
  
“Sorry,” he said. “Am I making you nervous?”  
  
He sat down on the couch and rubbed his hands together. “God, I hope this doesn’t go on too long,” he said. “These can go on for hours.”  
  
“I know,” Chow Mein said.  
  
Cherri shifted in his seat, then stood up. “I’m going to call Kobra,” he said, sweeping off to the kitchen. “Excuse me.”  
  
After he talked to Kobra, Cherri suggested having dinner, but neither of them were hungry. A few radio DJs tracked the movements of the Drac units. Roads were blocked, people were questioned. A neutral settlement lost power for an hour, but no one knew if it were related. A chill crept inside the house. Once Chow Mein thought he heard a car outside, but when he pulled back the curtains, he saw only his face reflected in the blackness.  
  
“It’s getting cold in here,” Cherri said. “Do you think we should light the stove?”  
  
“The wood’s outside in the cellar,” Chow Mein said, looking up from his order forms.  
  
“Do you want me to get it?” he said.  
  
“Do you think you should be going outside right now?” he said.  
  
“I think I’ll be fine,” Cherri said. “I mean, we would have heard if it someone pulled up to the house.”  
  
Chow Mein paused, then stood up and picked up the lantern. “I’ll get it,” he said. “Stay here.”  
  
Cherri waited in the back doorway while he headed outside, the lantern casting a shaky light over the grasses outside. A chill cut through his wool jacket. He hauled a few logs out of the cellar, his breath fogging in the air. The house was silhouetted against the desert. He stepped inside and slammed the door, cutting off the cold wind.  
  
“Man, it’s windy out there,” Cherri said, following him into the kitchen. “I was shocked when I had my first winter here. I never really noticed it in the city.”  
  
“Most people don’t,” Chow Mein said. He knelt in front of the stove and arranged the newspaper and kindling inside.  
  
“I wish it would snow,” Cherri said.  
  
“Do you?”  
  
“Yeah. I mean, it’s a pain in the ass when you’re on the road, but I think it’s beautiful. I love just sitting out and watching it.”  
  
Chow Mein laughed as he lit the fire. “I watched it snow for almost twenty years,” he said. “I can’t say I ever enjoyed it. I don’t think anyone from my generation did.”  
  
“Yeah?” Cherri said. “What about when you were a kid? Did you ever go out and make snowmen?”  
  
“No, I didn’t,” he said. “We lived on the edge of the street. The workers had usually shoveled it off the sidewalk by the time I woke up.”  
  
He shut the stove door and stood up. A bright orange fire crackled inside. Cherri sat down at the kitchen table, sitting sideways in the chair so that he faced the stove. Chow Mein folded his arms and watched the fire. Heat radiated from the stove.  
  
“You know, if you have kids, they might see snow once or twice a year, at the most,” Cherri said. “And it snowed every day when you were a kid.”  
  
“I’ve been told that,” he said. “It’s strange to think about.”  
  
“Are you going to have kids?”  
  
“No, I’m not,” he said.  
  
“Yeah?” Cherri said. “I don’t think I want kids, either.”  
  
Chow Mein gave a short laugh. “For me, it wasn’t a matter of choice,” he said.  
  
Cherri paused. “Are you saying that you can’t have kids?” he said, rubbing his ankle.  
  
“No, I can’t have children,” he said. “It wasn’t a surprise. My mother had suspected it for a while.” _It nearly drove her insane,_ he thought.  
  
“I’m sorry, man,” Cherri said quietly. “I always wished that I had lots of siblings, but I think my parents had issues, too. My dad, well—he didn’t outright say this, but he implied that I wasn’t supposed to happen.”  
  
“Neither was I,” Chow Mein said. “And neither was Kristan, I believe. I don’t think that anyone born in the desert was planned.”  
  
Cherri carried the radio into the kitchen. The stove had been crackling for an hour when the waves suddenly went silent. After fifteen minutes of static, a recording blasted from the speakers. “ _This channel has been temporarily suspended_ ,” said a sterile female voice. “ _Communications are expected to resume by one A.M._ ” Cherri groaned, flipping through the stations. The voice was repeated on every channel like a series of mirror images.  
  
“I was afraid this was going to happen,” Cherri said. “Do you still have the long wave lying around?”  
  
“The transmitter?” Chow Mein said. “I do, but I don’t know if anyone’s going to answer it.”  
  
“Well, it’s something,” Cherri said. His mouth twisted as he flipped through the stations.  
  
Chow Mein sat down in the living room. After a few minutes of struggling to concentrate, he managed to focus on his work. The radio hummed in the background. He rubbed a hand across his face, then ran a hand through his hair. The anxiety from that evening was starting to drain away, leaving behind a heavy exhaustion. The world seemed to move slowly, as if he were pulling himself out of a dream.  
  
“You look tired,” Cherri said from the kitchen.  
  
“Do I?” he said. He shook his head, trying to stay awake. “I can’t fall asleep now.”  
  
“You can go ahead,” Cherri said. “I’ll wake you up if anything happens.”  
  
He shook his head, stacking the papers on the table. But after a few minutes, drowsiness started to overtake him again. His head swam as if he’d been drugged. He cradled his head in his hand and closed his eyes.  
  
“You get broadcasts all the way out to the border, right?” Cherri said.  
  
Chow Mein turned around. “Yes, I do,” he said.  
  
Cherri nodded and turned back to the radio. The recording droned through the speakers, occasionally interrupted by bursts of static. In his tired state, the spitting static hit him like a needle to his flesh. He closed his eyes again. The stove sent off waves of heat. The light from the lantern was dimming, burning the last of the oil.  
  
\---  
  
Chow Mein jerked awake. Cherri was frantically pacing around, grabbing his coat and throwing it over his shoulders. The house was dark except for a square of firelight in front of the stove. Chow Mein climbed to his feet, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Cherri’s frame was barely visible whenever he passed in front of the windows. Harsh breathing filled the air.  
  
“Cherri,” he said. “What’s going on?”  
  
Cherri stopped and turned to him. “Tom,” he said. “Shit. Just stay here, man. I’ll call someone to stay with you.”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“Tom, just stay here, man, okay? Please. I need to get out of here.”  
  
Chow Mein stepped forward. “Cherri,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on.”  
  
Cherri took a shaky breath, wiping his eyes. Something about the action made Chow Mein’s insides go cold.  
  
“D just broadcasted five minutes ago,” Cherri said. His voice was strained. “He must’ve gotten around the blocker. He said that Kobra and Jet had a run-in with this other gang, and—” He covered his mouth with his hand. “He said they’re dead, Tom.”  
  
Chow Mein stared at him in shock. “They’re dead?” he said.  
  
“Yeah. He said a gang killed them. Right on the side of the road.”  
  
He paused, then shook his head. “Wait,” he said. “I don’t know if I believe this. Who told him this?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Cherri said. “But it’s D, man. You know he wouldn’t broadcast this if he didn’t think it was true.”  
  
“I thought communications were down,” he said. “Who contacted him? How did he find out?”  
  
“He’s got scouts all over the place,” Cherri said, his voice strained. “They used long wave, man, I don’t know. Maybe someone drove over there.”  
  
Chow Mein rubbed his face with his hands. “And what do you think you’re going to do?” he said.  
  
“I need to get out of here,” Cherri said. “I need to get out of here and—find the bodies, if they’re dead, or take them to the medics if they’re not. They might be stranded on the road. I need to get them out of there before someone else finds them—”  
  
“Cherri,” he said, as gently as he could.  
  
“No, man,” he said. “I don’t have time for this. I know you don’t want me out there, but I’ve gotta get to them before the—Dracs come back, or the scavengers show up—”  
  
“Cherri, there’s nothing you can do,” he said.  
  
“I can’t just leave them out there,” he said, his voice wavering. “Tom, you of all people know what happens if you do.”  
  
“I know,” he said.  
  
“He mentioned the name of the highway,” Cherri said. “I’ll just drive out there and—I’ll come right back, man. I promise.”  
  
“Where is it?”  
  
“Route Guano.”  
  
“I’ve never heard of it.”  
  
“Neither have I,” Cherri said. He wiped a hand across his mouth. “But I’ll just—I’ll get a map and I’ll find it, I’ll find them and—take them back to the diner—”  
  
“Cherri,” he said quietly. “Sit down.”  
  
“No,” Cherri said. “No, I can’t do this.”  
  
“Cherri. Sit down.”  
  
“I can’t deal with this,” he said. “Jesus, Tom, I can’t fucking deal with this—”  
  
He paced back and forth, breathing hard. Suddenly he broke off and started for the door. He reached for the doorknob, then stopped. He paced down the opposite end of the kitchen. He walked back and forth, his face wet in the dim light. “Tom, give me the keys,” he said.  
  
“No,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Tom. Just give me the fucking keys, man. Please.”  
  
“Cherri, you’re not going out there.”  
  
“Just give me the fucking keys, man!” Cherri said. “Please! Just let me out of this fucking house!”  
  
Chow Mein instinctively stepped in front of the doorway. Cherri moved forward, looming over him like a bear on its hind legs.  
  
“Tom,” Cherri said. “Get away from the door.”  
  
“No,” he said.  
  
“Tom! I’m not joking! Get away from the fucking door!”  
  
“What do you think you’re going to do out there?” Chow Mein said, his voice rising. “Do you think you’re going to track down this gang and slaughter all of them?”  
  
Cherri’s hands shook with anger. “Maybe,” he said.  
  
“No,” he said. “You’re not going out there. If you do, you’ll live to regret it.”  
  
“I’ll make them regret it,” Cherri said. “I’ll make them regret the day they ever saw Jet and Kobra on the road—”  
  
“Cherri, if that report was true, then your friends are dead,” Chow Mein said. “Going on a killing rampage won’t help them. Getting arrested won’t help them, it’ll just fuel the bloodthirsty gangs out here. There’s nothing you can do. Sit down and wait for the next report.”  
  
Cherri’s entire body seemed to shake with fury. Chow Mein’s eyes flickered over to the drawer where he kept his ray gun. For a split second, he thought about grabbing it before Cherri charged at him. But then Cherri turned around and slumped down at the kitchen table. He cradled his face in his hands. After a few minutes, Chow Mein pulled out the chair in front of him and sat down.  
  
Cherri lifted his head. His eyes were red and glassy. “This can’t be real,” he said. “It must’ve been a false report, man, I mean…there’s no way this is real.”  
  
“There’s always a chance that someone gave him false information,” Chow Mein said.  
  
Cherri nodded. “You know, when D announced it, he said it like it was nothing,” he said. “He just said that Kobra and Jet had been ghosted, like he was announcing the weather. I just…I don’t understand why he did that. How he could he do that? Kobra delivers his supplies every week, man. I thought that meant something to him.”  
  
“Some people don’t know how to express their grief,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Yeah,” Cherri said. “I guess. I don’t know. Maybe he’s not grieving at all.” He laughed weakly. “Maybe it’s all fake. I feel like I’ll wake up tomorrow and he’ll just call me like nothing happened.”  
  
The stove cast a square of yellowish light across the floor. The wind occasionally stirred outside. Cherri tried to call Dr. Death on his transmitter, but the waves were still blocked. His face was numb and white, like something had drained out of him.  
  
“Hey,” Cherri said suddenly. His voice was quiet. “I know this is stupid, but, uh…didn’t you say once that your mother used to pray at hospitals?”  
  
“She did, yes,” Chow Mein said. “The families often asked her to pray for people who were dying.”  
  
“Do you remember any of the prayers?” Cherri said.  
  
He paused, thinking hard. “I remember a few that she used to say at home,” he said. “I’d have to translate them into English.”  
  
“No. Don’t worry about it. Just say it in German.”  
  
He closed his eyes and wracked his brain. A prayer came to mind. Cherri reached for his hand, and he took it.  
  
“ _O mein Jesus, verzeih uns unsere Sünden!  
Bewahre uns vor dem Feuer der Hölle!  
Führe alle Seelen in den Himmel,  
besonders jene, die deiner Barmherzigkeit am meisten bedürfen.  
Amen_.”  
  
Cherri’s eyes were wet. “Do you know any others?” he said.  
  
He searched his memories until he recalled a prayer that his mother had often said in church.   
  
“ _Ehre sei dem Vater und dem Sohn und dem Heiligen Geist,  
wie im Anfang, so auch jetzt  
und alle Zeit und in Ewigkeit. Amen_.”  
  
“What does it mean?” Cherri said, squeezing his hand.  
  
“In English?” he said. “All glory to the Holy Trinity.”  
  
“The what?”  
  
“The Trinity. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”  
  
“I didn’t know you were so religious.”  
  
He laughed, not unkindly. “I’m not,” he said. “I was raised in a religious household.”  
  
“I don’t think my parents were religious,” Cherri said. “Or if they were, they never mentioned it. I can only remember my mom praying a couple of times in her life.”  
  
Chow Mein nodded. “My mother was Christian,” he said. “I was actually named after a Biblical character. Thomas the Apostle.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Cherri said. “I don’t think I was named after anyone. My dad said they just liked the name.”  
  
He laughed a little, then went silent. His body seemed to sag against the table. The fire crackled quietly behind them.  
  
“Do you remember any more?” he said.  
  
The night crossed into early morning. Cherri repeatedly checked the radio, but Dr. Death never broadcasted again. Eventually, the first thin rays of light shone through the curtains. The light changed from dark blue, almost black, to a deep blue as if they were underwater. When Chow Mein stood up, Cherri groggily lifted his head from the table. He watched as he pushed back the curtains.  
  
“It’s snowing,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Are you serious?” Cherri said.  
  
He stood up and peered out the window. A thin dusting of snow covered the sand. Tiny pinpricks of snow floated from the sky. Cherri covered his mouth with his hand. Chow Mein patted his shoulder, then stepped away. He was heading for the stove when Cherri’s transmitter suddenly buzzed.  
  
They both jumped as if they’d been electrocuted. Cherri grabbed his transmitter. “Hello?” he said breathlessly.  
  
“ _It’s me_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _Dr. D. Communications just went back up_.”  
  
“Oh, thank God,” Cherri said shakily. “What happened? What’s going on?”  
  
“ _I guess you heard my broadcast last night?_ ”  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, I heard it.”  
  
“ _They’re fine_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _I mean, they’ve got some injuries from stumbling around in the dark, but they’re okay. The whole gang story was just to get the Dracs off their tail. They knew they were being followed on the road_.”  
  
Cherri’s body seemed to wither with relief. “Oh my God,” he said. “Oh, thank God.”  
  
“ _I’m so sorry, kid_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _I know you were trying to reach me on the long wave. I just couldn’t risk the city overhearing and finding out. If they would’ve been caught, they probably would’ve been dragged back to the city and God knows what would have happened._ ”  
  
“No,” Cherri said. “No, of course. I understand. Are they still there? Can I talk to them?”  
  
“ _Jet’s still asleep, but I think I hear Kobra stirring back there_ ,” Dr. Death said. “ _Hang on. I’ll go check_.”  
  
Cherri hurried out of the room. Chow Mein watched him for a few moments, then turned away. He grabbed a metal bucket and extinguished the fire in the stove. After scraping the ash into the bucket, he headed outside and sprinkled the ash over the snow on the highway. The snow melted into clear water. A single set of tire tracks had already cut through the ice, trailing off into the distance.  
  
He lowered the bucket and looked around, his breath fogging in the air. A thin white film coated the ground. Snow dusted the shrubs and clung to the leaves of Joshua trees. The sky was grey, with hints of pink and yellow light at the horizon. He adjusted his coat, then walked back inside. Cherri’s voice rang out excitedly through the living room.  
  
“Oh, no,” Cherri said. “No, I totally get it. Man, are you guys okay over there? I’d still be shaken up.”  
  
Chow Mein placed the bucket on the counter, then sat down at the table. He turned on the radio. Static hissed from the speakers.


	33. Chapter 33

Dr. Death sat at the kitchen table, scribbling on the edge of a map. A radio sat in front of him. He looked up when Chow Mein entered the room. He gestured for him to approach the table, then wheeled back to the counter, where a pot of watery coffee brewed on the hot plate. He poured the coffee into a mug.  
  
“You can sit down,” Dr. Death said. “Do you want some coffee?”  
  
“I don’t drink coffee,” Chow Mein said.  
  
Dr. Death wheeled back to the table, sipping from the mug. “How’s it going?” he said tentatively.  
  
“Cherri said that you wanted to talk to me,” Chow Mein said.  
  
Dr. Death nodded, lowering the mug. “Yeah,” he said. “Newsie got some information on the bombing this morning. They still haven’t released the names, but she’s got the direct location. It was at the fish market on Glimmer Street.”  
  
Dr. Death showed him an area circled on the map. He leaned forward. “I think my mother lives a few blocks away,” he said.  
  
“Does she?” Dr. Death said. “Yeah. That’s good. But we’ll keep listening, just in case. What’s her name?”  
  
“Anne Marie Curschmann.”  
  
“All right. Anne….Marie…” Dr. Death wrote _Anne Marie Curshman_ on the map. “When they release the names, you’ll be the first to know.”  
  
Chow Mein nodded, then looked away. He waited for Dr. Death to dismiss him. “Is that everything?” he said.  
  
Dr. Death toyed with the pen. “Actually, Tom, I wanted to ask you a favor,” he said.  
  
“What is it?” Chow Mein said. There was no friendliness in his voice.  
  
“I’ve been trying to get my hands on this book for a while,” he said. “It’s called the Graffiti Bible. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it. It’s his book written by a bunch of androids in the city who worship Destroya—”  
  
Chow Mein sighed through his teeth.  
  
“No, it’s not like that,” Dr. Death said quickly. “I’m not trying to pull anything. I just want to get my hands on a copy. But everyone I called said they didn’t have it, and most of them had no idea where to find it. They said it’s hard to find copies outside of the city.”  
  
“Go to Salt City,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“I tried that,” Dr. Death said. “Yeah, you’d think it’d be everywhere there, but most people there don’t really worship it. I ended up contacting this guy in the black market. He said he’s got one and he’ll set it aside for me. I just need to pick it up at the market this weekend.”  
  
“Are you asking me to negotiate for you?” Chow Mein said in the same flat, indifferent tone.  
  
“No,” he said. “The deal’s done. I just need somebody to show me around. I don’t want to talk to the wrong guy and end up buying an AK-47.”  
  
“Ask him for his name. Ask him to describe his appearance.”  
  
“Apparently he’s a short, bald guy named Brick,” Dr. Death said. “How many short, bald guys do you think are out here?”  
  
Chow Mein shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Steve, I don’t know what you’re asking me to do,” he said quietly.  
  
“Just show me around!” he said. “Show me who to talk to. You know I don’t know anything about the market.”  
  
Chow Mein looked at him as if he wanted to say something. Then he stood up, shaking his head. His expression was closed off.  
  
“Tom,” Dr. Death said.  
  
“I’ll be outside,” he said. “If you call me again, it better be with news about my mother. Otherwise, don’t waste my time.”  
  
He stormed out of the kitchen. Dr. Death watched him, then lowered his eyes to the table. He took a heavy breath and closed his eyes. Cherri and Kobra’s laughter trickled out of the living room behind him.  
  
\---  
  
Evening had fallen when Dr. Death and Pony arrived at the black market. When they entered the building, Dr. Death realized that it had once been a one-room schoolhouse. A blackboard was mounted to the front wall. A fire glowed inside the wood stove in the corner. The desks had been cleared away to make room for the tables and booths that crowded the room, with people hovering around the tables like river algae attached to a rock.  
  
Dr. Death scanned the room. “All right, he said he was short and bald,” he said. “Do you see this guy anywhere?”  
  
Pony squinted. “Nope,” he said. “Maybe he’s not here yet.”  
  
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll ask someone. You think I’ll get a real answer or just some cagey, secretive bullshit?”  
  
“Probably a little of both,” Pony said.  
  
Dr. Death chuckled. He wheeled over to the nearest booth, where a woman was laying bowls of colored powder on a tablecloth. Her left hand was streaked with burn scars.  
  
“Excuse me,” Dr. Death said. “Do you know where we can find this guy named Brick? Short and bald?”  
  
“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” she said.  
  
“You’ve never met him?”  
  
“I’m not here to talk to the other sellers,” she said. “I don’t know who he is. Sorry.”  
  
Dr. Death sighed and raised a hand in thanks. He wheeled to another table, where the seller was surrounded by unmarked cardboard boxes. He claimed that he had never heard of Brick, either. Dr. Death tried another seller, who said that she knew Brick but wasn’t sure if he’d show up tonight. He was thinking about trying to radio him when Pony nudged his arm.  
  
“What?” he said.  
  
“ _Shh_ ,” Pony whispered, pointing to a table. “Look.”  
  
Dr. Death peered at the table, then stopped. Chow Mein was speaking to the woman behind the table. Dr. Death and Pony exchanged glances.  
  
“You’re not going to talk to him, are you?” Pony said.  
  
Dr. Death shook his head. “No, I don’t want to bother him,” he said quietly. But his eyes lingered on him until the back door suddenly burst open.  
  
A heavy bald man in a grey T-shirt barged inside, pushing a cart stacked with boxes. He parked next to an empty table and started unloading the boxes. A nearby seller rolled his eyes. Dr. Death and Pony hurried over. The man looked up and grinned.  
  
“Hey there,” he said. “Have you gentlemen been waiting for me?”  
  
“You’re Brick, right?” Dr. Death said.  
  
“Yup, that’s me.”  
  
Dr. Death shook his hand. “I’m Dr. Death Defying,” he said. “This is my friend, Show Pony. I talked to you on the radio about the Graffiti Bible.”  
  
“Oh!” Brick said. “Yeah, of course.” He searched through one of the boxes. “Nope, not in there.” He hauled the last box off the cart and opened it. “Ah! Here we go.” He handed Dr. Death a book. “There you go. Ten carbons, taxes included.”  
  
Dr. Death opened the book, then stopped. “Wait,” he said. “What the hell?”  
  
“Something wrong?” Brick said.  
  
“Yeah, something’s wrong. This isn’t what I paid for.”  
  
Brick looked at him oddly. “Sure it is.”  
  
Dr. Death laughed. “No, it’s not, man. What the hell is this?”  
  
“Look, man, you said you wanted Graffiti Bible,” Brick said, lowering his voice. “I got you Graffiti Bible.”  
  
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Dr. Death said, closing the book. He leaned back in his chair. “Tom!” he shouted. “Hey, Tom!”  
  
Chow Mein turned around. Anger flashed across his face. He marched over to the table as Dr. Death waved him over. “If you want something, walk up to me and say it,” he said. “Don’t shout at me from across the room.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Dr. Death said. “Look. This is what this guy gave me.”  
  
Chow Mein opened the book. Half the pages had been ripped out, leaving ragged edges. He flipped through the book until he found a certain page, then held up the book. A plastic bag of sparkly green powder was taped to the page.  
  
“He wanted the book, Brick,” Chow Mein said, then handed it back to him.  
  
Brick stared at him. “Are you kidding me, Slim?” he said.  
  
“What the hell did you think I was asking about?” Dr. Death said. “I’m not into fuzz, man. I just wanted the book.”  
  
“You should’ve been more specific!” Brick said. “You think that I’m just carrying copies of the Graffiti Bible around?”  
  
“Well, apparently you have one,” Dr. Death said.  
  
Brick laughed, stuffing the book back in the box. Chow Mein shook his head as he marched away from the table. “Well, he’s in a great mood now,” Brick said. “Thanks for that. I’m sure I’ll be dealing with that later tonight.”  
  
“He doesn’t buy fuzz, does he?” Dr. Death said.  
  
“Nope. Sellers like me dabble in a little of everything.”  
  
“You don’t know where I could get a copy of the book, do you?”  
  
“Nope,” Brick said. “You need to understand that they’re not in high demand out here. It’s mostly an android thing.”  
  
“Yeah. I get it.” Dr. Death sighed. “Thanks anyway, man.”  
  
“Yup. You got it.”  
  
Dr. Death and Pony scoured the building, talking to anyone that didn’t look too suspicious, but no one had a copy. Finally, Dr. Death’s eyes followed Chow Mein as he walked out of the building. He hesitated, then followed him outside. The night was almost completely black from the cloud cover. Dr. Death switched on a flashlight. Chow Mein jumped and turned around, then relaxed when he saw them approaching.  
  
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” he said.  
  
“Tom, you’re the only one we know who can find this book,” Dr. Death said. “You’ve got connections all over the place. If you find this book, I’ll pay whatever you want. I’ll even cover your gas money if you have to drive somewhere to get it.”  
  
“Why are you so obsessed with this book?” Chow Mein said shortly.  
  
“Because it’s part of our heritage, man,” he said. “I mean, you go to Salt City and you see a whole city built around Destroya. People make art about it. Pony and I talked to someone the other day who collects sand from around the area and sells it to people. It’s part of our culture.”  
  
“Are you sure you’re not buying it for an escaped android?”   
  
“What?” Dr. Death said. “No, Tom. Look, that operation is over. You were right about that. The Vs didn’t know what they were doing, and the whole thing went nowhere. And the Vs and I are done, too, if you want to know the truth. I haven’t seen any of them in the past three years.”  
  
“It’s true,” Pony said. “We haven’t talked to Val at all. He’s an asshole.”  
  
“Yeah, I learned that one the hard way,” Dr. Death said. “Look, how about this—if you find the book, I’ll advertise your store on the radio. Free of charge. Once a day, you know it’ll be good for business.”  
  
Chow Mein looked at him coldly. “Steve, who do you think you’re talking to?” he said.  
  
“What?” Dr. Death said.  
  
“Your friends kidnapped me, harassed me, harassed my employee, vandalized my property, and sold off half my supplies,” he said. “You are not going to address me like we’re friends who ran into each other on the street.”  
  
“Tom—” Dr. Death began, but Chow Mein cut him off.  
  
“To you, I’m a supplier,” he said. “When you address me, you’ll address me like a supplier. Do not speak to me like I’m one of your radio listeners.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Dr. Death said quietly.  
  
Chow Mein shot him a final look, then swept off to his car. He slammed the door. A fog swirled in the headlights. Pony watched open-mouthed as he pulled out onto the highway. When the car was gone, Pony’s voice burst through the silence.  
  
“That fucking asshole!” Pony said. “Who the hell does he think he is?”  
  
“Pony,” Dr. Death said wearily.  
  
“No! I don’t care! Who the hell talks to you like that?”  
  
“Pony, I’m not in the mood to argue about him,” Dr. Death said. “Let’s just get back to the house.”  
  
“Fine!” Pony said, throwing his hands up. “Fine. But I’m not going to keep my mouth shut if he ever talks to you like that again.”  
  
Pony stormed over to the truck with Dr. Death following behind, his wheels crunching on the icy grass. Pony unlocked the door and threw it open. The interior light switched on when he turned on the engine, making the truck glow from within.  
  
\---  
  
Chow Mein sighed with relief when his mother’s voice came through the speakers. He sat in his bedroom with the lantern flickering in front of him. Frost had gathered on the window. The transmitter was cool to the couch, as if he’d stored it in an icebox.  
  
“ _I suppose you heard about that bombing in the Ruby District_ ,” Anne Marie said.  
  
“Yes, I did,” Chow Mein said. “You weren’t involved, were you? I know you don’t live in that area.”  
  
“ _Oh, no, of course not_ ,” she said. “ _But I heard the explosion from my apartment. At first I thought something had fallen upstairs. It just sounded like a loud thud. But then Mrs. Sutton came running over and told me what happened_.” She sighed. “ _Goodness, I just couldn’t believe it. I thought the city had better security than this_.”  
  
“I’m just glad that you weren’t involved,” he said.  
  
“ _Oh, no_ ,” she said. “ _I never go to the Glimmer Market. But I didn’t leave the apartment for a week. Mrs. Sutton had to deliver everything to me_.”  
  
Something went still in Chow Mein’s expression. His eyes flickered away for a moment.  
  
“Did you talk to your therapist?” he said.  
  
“ _What’s she going to do?_ ” Anne Marie said. “ _We’ve tried anything. All I can do is pop another C-level and wait for tomorrow_.”  
  
“Are you doing what she asked?” he said. “Did you follow her prescription?”  
  
“ _No! Why should I? I’ve told her again and again that B-levels don’t work for me_.”  
  
“Then find a new therapist.”  
  
“ _I’ve tried that, Tom. Believe me. Everybody tells me the same thing. Take this! Take that! Then I tell them that I’ve already tried that, and they tell me to take more of it_.”  
  
“Mother, you and I both know that you don’t follow their instructions.”  
  
“ _Tom, for the last time, I’ve tried everything. I’ve tried every dosage and medication available to me for the last forty years. Nothing in this city works_.”  
  
“Then I’ve told you to start looking into alternative treatments.”  
  
“ _What? Like pot? Are you still smoking pot?_ ”  
  
“No, Mother, I am not currently smoking pot. Is this relevant?”  
  
“ _I think it’s quite relevant, if my own son is getting high off illegal substances!_ ”  
  
“It’s not as dangerous as the city makes it out to be.”  
  
“ _Oh no, of course not. Nothing that the city says is true. What else do the Killjoys tell you? Heroin isn’t dangerous? Are you going to start using heroin next, Tom?_ ”  
  
“No. Jesus Christ, Mother.”  
  
“ _I can’t believe you’re defending these people_ ,” she said. “ _When you first came out to the desert, you said they were all horrible. You were getting threats every week, I was worried sick about you. And now you couldn’t care less what they do_.”  
  
“That’s not what I said.”  
  
“ _Oh, it’s not what you said. But it’s certainly what I’m hearing. Tom, what on earth is so special about the desert? What do you do out there that you can’t do in the city?_ ”  
  
“If I return to the city, I’ll be arrested,” he said. “I’ve told you this before.”  
  
“ _Then you shouldn’t have left in the first place!_ ” she said. “ _But it’s too late for that, I suppose. You know, I never understood why you were so eager to flee_.”  
  
“You know why,” he said sharply. “For God’s sake, Mother, you know why.”  
  
“ _I most certainly do not!_ ” she said. “ _You didn’t have to leave after the divorce! I offered you a place to live!_ ”  
  
“Do you think that I wanted to go back there?” he said. “Do you think I forgot being locked in that apartment for days? Do you think I forgot going hungry? The teachers noticed that I was underweight, but you told me to lie to them, tell them I was sick—”  
  
“ _I was afraid to go outside!_ ” she said. “ _I’m sorry, Tom! What do you want me to say? You know that I went through the wars!_ ”   
  
“You could have called for help,” he said. “There are people who could have helped us, you know that. You could have talked to the neighbors. You could have called the city hotline.”  
  
“ _I wasn’t thinking straight! Do you think that I was thinking straight when I was in the middle of a panic? I know it might seem easy for you, having never dealt with anxiety—_ ”  
  
“Did panic cause you to smack me across the face?” he said. “Was panic the reason that you kicked me or hit my head against the counter?”  
  
“ _No! Goodness, Tom! I was in a bad state of mind when I did those things, I’ll admit that_ —”  
  
He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m not continuing this.”  
  
She continued to speak, but he switched off the transmitter. He stood up and marched outside, the air hitting him like a gush of cold water. He stood in the grasses, breathing in the cold air. The moon was shaped like a sickle. A generator rumbled somewhere in the distance.   
  
When his hands started to grow stiff from the cold, he grabbed a log from the cellar and stormed into the kitchen. He rubbed his hands together before lighting the fire. He sat at the kitchen table, watching the fire crackle inside the stove, feeling something beyond anger—a cold resentment that had hardened years ago, something that seemed to be permanently lodged in the back of his mind.  
  
\---  
  
The air was warm and heavy with the smell of cooked vegetables. Newsie filled everyone’s glass with water, then sat down at the table. They scooped out rice and vegetables from the bowl in the center of the table. For a few minutes, the only sound was the clinking of silverware against plates. Pony waved away the steam on the rice as if it were campfire smoke.  
  
“I think I’m going to need more yarn before this month is over,” Newsie said, breaking the silence.  
  
“Are you really?” Dr. Death said.  
  
She nodded over her glass. “I’m already running low,” she said. “I’ll have to ask Kobra to bring more next time.”  
  
“Why don’t you just unravel some of the old ones that didn’t sell?” he said.  
  
“No!” Pony said. “Don’t tell her to do that, D.”  
  
“Why not? They’re just sitting there, collecting dust.”  
  
“You cant just unravel art,” Pony said. “That’s like telling somebody, oh, you’re out of paint? Just scrape off our last painting and start over.”  
  
He laughed. “These aren’t paintings,” he said. “They’re just hats.”  
  
“I don’t even know where they are,” Newsie said. “I think I stored them somewhere in the cellar.”  
  
Dr. Death nodded as he stirred his rice. He was about to take a bite when someone knocked on the door. The three of them looked at each other in surprise. After a moment, Newsie laid her fork on the plate. “I’ll get it,” she said, standing up. She opened the door, then stepped back, blinking in surprise.  
  
“Hello,” she said.  
  
“Hey,” Cherri said. “May I come in?”  
  
“Yes, of course.”  
  
Cherri stepped inside the kitchen. “I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner,” he said. “I didn’t know that you ate this early.”  
  
“We normally don’t,” Dr. Death said. “We’re just doing an early broadcast tonight. What’s up?”  
  
“I wanted to give you this,” Cherri said. “I’ve had it sitting around my house for a while.”  
  
He handed Dr. Death a thick book. Pony peered over the table as Dr. Death flipped through the pages. Scribbled notes, scraps of paper, maps, drawings, and strings of code had been photocopied in black-and-white.  
  
“You’re kidding,” Dr. Death said. “You just had this lying around your house?”  
  
“Yeah,” Cherri said. “I’ve had it for a few years.”  
  
“And we can keep this?”  
  
“Yeah. You can have it.”  
  
“This is great, kid. Thank you so much.”  
  
Cherri didn’t smile. “I don’t want you to think that I went behind Tom’s back,” he added. “I asked him if I could give you this. He said it was fine.”  
  
“Yeah. Of course.”  
  
He rubbed his hands together, then wrapped his arms around himself. “Look, uh…next time you need supplies, try talking to Christina in town,” he said. “Or call White Willow. I think she lives in Greenberry. They’ve got a lot of connections.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dr. Death said. “Yeah, we’ll do that.”  
  
Cherri raised a hand and said his goodbyes, then left the house. Dr. Death placed the book on the kitchen counter. The pages were stained yellow on the edges. Newsie lowered her eyes to her plate, then took a slow drink from her glass.  
  
“Well, that’s a face that I never thought I’d see here again,” she said finally.  
  
“Me neither,” Pony muttered.  
  
“I don’t think he’s coming back,” Dr. Death said. “I think he just wanted to get me off his employer’s back. And I can’t say that I totally blame him.”  
  
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Pony toyed with his fork. Newsie refilled her glass. After holding out the bowl to everyone else, Dr. Death dished out the remains on his plate. The rice was sticky and cold. Late sunlight shined through the tree branches outside.  
  
“I do hope that we see him again sometime,” Dr. Death said quietly.  
  
“I’m sure you will, Steve,” Newsie said. Her voice was kind.  
  
“Yeah, I’m sure we’ll see him at the market,” Pony said. “He always hits those up.”  
  
“It’s not enough,” Dr. Death said.  
  
“What’s not?”  
  
“Just seeing him. Talking to him. I thought it would help, but—I don’t think it’s ever going to be enough.”  
  
Newsie looked at him sadly. Dr. Death swallowed the last of the rice, then pushed himself back from the table. He laid the plate and glass on the kitchen counter.  
  
“I’m going to sit outside for a couple of minutes,” he said. “Let me know when you’re ready for the broadcast.”  
  
While Newsie scraped up the rice on her plate, Dr. Death wheeled outside. The sun hovered in the sky. Dry grasses jutted up from the sand like strands of hair. He coughed and cleared his throat, then sat outside until the light turned bluish and the cold air seeped through his clothes.


	34. Chapter 34

**Part Three**  
  
**2017  
  
** The ground was dusted with ash, with burnt twigs and blackened shrubs sticking out of the ground like matchsticks. Prickly pear cactus pads were dry and shriveled like dead leaves. The acrid stench of smoke lingered in the air. Chow Mein marched up to the tents, a box tucked under his arm. The white tents flapped and rippled in the wind. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving streaks of orange light as if another fire burned in the distance.  
  
Medics darted in and out of the tents. Headlights glowed and car doors slammed. People ran up to the tents, shouting and crying. One woman carried bundles of white sheets. Chow Mein scanned the area until he spotted a medic speaking into a tent. “Excuse me,” he said when she stepped away. “I’m looking for a woman that I spoke to on the radio. White Meadow.”  
  
“She’s probably in the last tent,” the medic said.  
  
“Thank you,” he said. As he left, he caught a glimpse of the patients inside the tent. He quickly looked away, discomfort prickling at his skin.  
  
He ducked into the last tent, where a woman sat behind a folding table. Crates were stacked around the tent, piled with books and supplies. A radio played quietly on the table. He immediately recognized Dr. Death’s voice. “… _pretty bad right now_ ,” he said. “ _If you’ve got any supplies you can spare, especially water or medical supplies, Pony’s still taking donations_ …”  
  
“Excuse me,” Chow Mein said. “Are you the woman that I spoke to on the radio? White Meadow?”  
  
“That would be me,” she said. Her voice was soft and nasally. “You’re Tommy?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
He laid the box on the table. She turned down the radio, then took out boxes of antibiotics. She counted them and stacked them on the table. “You said you got these from the black market?” she said.  
  
“Yes, that’s right.”  
  
“All right,” she said quietly. She pushed the boxes aside and marked them down in a record book. “This is what we needed.”  
  
He waited in front of the table. Without looking at him, she opened the first box and slid out the foil card.  
  
“Ma’am?” he said. “We discussed payment over the radio.”  
  
“You’ll get your payment in due time,” she said without looking up.  
  
“Excuse me?” he said.  
  
“We’ll pay you as soon as we’ve got the money,” she said. “You’re probably looking at a couple of weeks.”  
  
“What?” he said. “No. I’m sorry. I never agreed to this.”  
  
Meadow looked up at him. “Sir, we’re talking about burn victims,” she said. “You understand that we need antibotics now. We can’t just wait around until we can afford it.”  
  
“I understand that,” he said. “But I can’t give supplies away for free.”  
  
“I promise you that we’re not expecting this for free,” she said. “I’ve marked everything down. We’ll pay you as soon as the funds are available.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t do that.”  
  
Meadow lowered the box. “Are you telling me that you’re going to take these antibiotics and walk away because we can’t pay you tonight?” she said.  
  
He looked at her heavily. “I don’t want it to come to that,” he said.  
  
She gave him a hard look, then stood up. “Come on,” she said. “Let me show you something.”  
  
He followed her outside, where more people had arrived. A row of cars was parked outside of the tents. Someone darted across the camp with a bucket of water, the ash sifting around her feet. People murmured inside the tents. A low wail cut through the air. Meadow led him into one of the tents, where the patients were arranged on rows of cots. People were gathered around the beds, talking quietly.  
  
A medic was crouched beside one of the cots, cleaning a burn that streaked up a woman’s leg. The flesh was pink and tattered, with blisters and red sores. The woman was biting her knuckles. Chow Mein’s expression wavered for a moment, and he looked away.  
  
“Do you see what kind of injuries we’re dealing with?” Meadow said. “Do you see why we need antibiotics?”  
  
The medic looked up. “What’s going on?” she said.  
  
“This gentleman doesn’t want to give us the antibiotics that we ordered,” Meadow said. “Apparently he expected us to pay him right away.”  
  
“How much does he want?” she said. “Give him money out of the truck.”  
  
“He wants forty carbons.”  
  
The medic looked at him with her mouth open. “Are you serious?” she said, squeezing a rag in a bucket of water. “Do you need the money _now_?”  
  
“I don’t take late payments,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Just give him money out of the truck,” she said to Meadow.  
  
“You want me to give him our gas money?”  
  
“Look, I think we’ve got bigger concerns right now. Just give him the money.”  
  
“What’s going on?” said a woman crouched next to one of the beds. She peered at them over the cots. “You can’t pay for the antibiotics?”  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” the medic said. “We’ll get it taken care of.”  
  
“I can pitch in,” she said. She stood up and fished her wallet out of her pocket. “How much do you need?”  
  
“That’s not necessary,” the medic said.  
  
But the woman was already handing him three carbons. A man with burns seared across his palms told his daughter to get five carbons out of his wallet. Another man produced a crumpled carbon from inside his shoe. People passed around donations until he held forty carbons in his hand, folded and tattered at the edges.  
  
“Did you get what you want now?” Meadow said. “Are you satisfied?”  
  
He tucked the money in his wallet and slipped it in his jacket. A vague unease hung in the air, as if he had demanded the money from the patients. “Thank you,” he said. Several pairs of eyes followed him as he walked outside. Pony was parked in front of the camp, hauling a box of donations out of his truck. When Chow Mein recognized him, he avoided his eye.  
  
He climbed into his car and slammed the door. He slipped off one of his shoes and turned it over. The sole was dusted with grey ash. He slipped it back on, then turned on the engine. “— _to Dr. Death Defying_ ,” the radio broadcaster said. “ _He knows a hell of a lot more about this situation than we do. Word is that Show Pony got about a hundred carbs’ worth of donations, and that’s just from Sunburst_ …”  
  
\---  
  
Dr. Death sat near the front of the The Burning Tire bar, talking to a man seated at the table next to him. The auctioneer was setting up near the front counter. The man at the table had dark sunglasses and scraggly grey hair. His family sat next to him. The audience hummed excitedly, counting their money and checking the clock.  
  
“We’re thnking about going on a little trip to Zone Two,” Stan said. “Just the wife and I. We always wanted to see the Coyote Village.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s an incredible place,” Dr. Death said. “I’ve never been, but I’ve seen pictures. Amazing sculptures. Pony brought home this picture of a hut made entirely of animal ribs.”  
  
“That’s something,” Stan said, setting aside his drink. “Hey, maybe you should come with us. You think you could get away from the radio for a couple of days?”  
  
Dr. Death laughed. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “If I did that, I’d probably have to make some prerecordings. I took a couple of days off when I was sick once, and Pony said people were lighting up the switchboard. _Where the hell’s Dr. D?_ ”  
  
He chuckled and swallowed the rest of his drink. He looked up when the front door opened, then stopped. He slowly lowered his glass. Chow Mein had stepped into the bar. He scanned the tables, but they were all crammed with people. Only Dr. Death’s table was available. With a resigned look, he sat down at the table, nodding to Dr. Death in acknowledgement.  
  
“Hey, Tom,” Dr. Death said. His voice had become steady and quiet.  
  
“Hey, man,” Stan said absently, then stopped and looked at him. “Wait. Are you that asshole who made all those burn victims pay you?”  
  
“Excuse me?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“All right, don’t start,” Dr. Death said.  
  
“No, no,” Stan said. “I want to talk to him. Listen to me. What the hell is so wrong with you people that you think you need to charge a bunch of victims for their own treatment?”  
  
“I never charged the victims,” Chow Mein said. “They approached me when I was talking to the medics. I never spoke to them, I never asked them for payment—”  
  
“Bullshit. We know what you are. You and Red Eye and the other cockroaches.”  
  
“All right, that’s enough,” Dr. Death said. “You weren’t there, you don’t know what the hell happened.”  
  
“D, don’t tell me you’re defending this asshole.”  
  
“Stan, you call him anything but his name again, and we’re going to have a problem.”  
  
Stan drew back. He looked at Dr. Death in shock, then waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever,” he said, turning back to his table. “I don’t know why the hell I bother. Mary, do you have the route planned out for next week?”  
  
Dr. Death shook his head as he turned away. “I’m sorry about that,” he said. Chow Mein spared him a glance, then turned back to the front of the bar, where the auctioneer was adjusting her microphone.  
  
“Before we begin, we’d just like to remind everyone that there’s no smoking inside the bar,” she said. “If you’ve gotta smoke, take it outside. Additionally, we just want to remind everyone that we do not auction guns or alcohol, and anything you got from the black market is off-limits…”  
  
Eventually, the auction began. The auctioneer sold off a few jackets and a pair of boots. Dr. Death bought a pair of wool pants. Chow Mein bid on a set of old medical tools, but was outbid. The auctioneer took a break and sipped a glass of water. A quiet murmuring rose from the crowd.  
  
“This is actually my first auction,” Dr. Death said.  
  
“Is it?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Yeah. Pony and I are tired of relying on suppliers for everything. We thought we’d cut out the middleman and try to buy some of our own supplies.”  
  
“You won’t find the basic supplies at an auction,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“I know,” Dr. Death said. “But I thought we might find some interesting odds and ends.” He peered inside his empty glass. “Pony decided not to stay. He’s out at the library right now.”  
  
Chow Mein nodded. His expression was distant, as if he were speaking to someone that he hadn’t met in twenty years. The auctioneer handed the bartender her empty glass and picked up the microphone.  
  
“All right, let’s get back into it,” she said. “Next up is a winter coat with a nice wool lining sewn on the inside…”  
  
As the auction went on, she sold clothes, dinnerware, books, old military equipment. A small pile of supplies grew on Dr. Death’s table. Chow Mein bought nothing except a military compass that he tucked inside his jacket. When the assistant dropped a suitcase of silverware on the table, Chow Mein couldn’t help but look at Dr. Death oddly.  
  
Dr. Death laughed a little. “What?” he said, opening the suitcase.  
  
“Who are you buying this for?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“I was actually thinking about donating some of it,” Dr. Death said. “I mean, those people caught in that brush fire lost everything. They’re going to need new clothes. Probably new silverware, too. Nobody ever thinks about donating silverware, but it’s a pretty basic need.”  
  
“So you’ve spent thirty carbons on supplies that you’re going to donate.”  
  
Dr. Death paused. “I’ve landed a few good ad deals lately,” he said. “I mean, I don’t always donate like this. We’ve just got some extra cash lying around this week.”  
  
“Is thirty carbons extra cash to you?”  
  
Dr. Death looked at him. “I’m not going to donate everything,” he said. “Maybe half of it.”  
  
He turned one of the tarnished forks around so that it caught the light. He could practically hear Chow Mein counting the profits in his head. Part of him wanted to give him the suitcase, but he knew that he wouldn’t take it.  
  
By the time the auction was over, the sky was growing dark outside. A few people headed to the bar, while others gathered their purchases and moved toward the door. Dr. Death radioed Pony and waited for him to arrive. He waved at Chow Mein when he stood up to leave. He nodded at him in return.  
  
“Hey, Tom,” Dr. Death said. “If you have trouble selling that compass, maybe take it to the veterans’ camp. I think a few of those guys would like to take a look at it.”  
  
Chow Mein nodded, then turned back to the door. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Vague unease lurked behind his expression.  
  
\---  
  
Over the following days, Dr. Death’s name appeared on broadcasts from around the Zones. People thanked him for donating to the survivors and being the first to report on the brush fire. Kobra told Cherri that Dr. Death awoke one morning to find packages of food and clothes waiting on the front porch like Christmas gifts. That night, he and Pony held a charity fundraiser at the monthly bonfire. The survivors became richer than some of the Killjoys that lived in Sunburst.  
  
As word spread across the Zones, Dr. Death and Pony were invited to appearances, concerts, guest DJ spots. His ratings increased. Bands that he had once played for free now paid up to eight carbons to appear on his show. People stopped Cherri and asked if it were true that he had once lived with him. Even Chow Mein was questioned about him. The surviviors eventually faded from the public eye, but Dr. Death’s name continued to float around the airwaves.  
  
One night, Dr. Death and Pony sat in a dimly-lit bar on the edge of Cherryville. The dark walls were covered with graffiti, posters, and fliers. Mad Gear performed on the tiny stage. Shouts and whoops rang out from the crowd when the song ended. When the bartender approached Dr. Death behind the counter, her face lit up.  
  
“Hey!” she said. “You’re Dr. Death Defying!”  
  
He laughed. “Yes, I am,” he said. “How are you?”  
  
“I’m good!” she said. “I loved that series you did where you read from the Grafitti Bible every night. My daughter and I used to stay up and listen to it.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Dr. Death said. “Well, thank you very much! I’m glad you enjoyed it.”  
  
“We did,” she said. “Is there anything I can get for you?”  
  
They bought their drinks, then moved to one of the tables and watched the show for a while. Occasionally people stopped them to talk or ask for photographs. Dr. Death discussed a possible charity fundraiser with another DJ. He was heading back to the bar for another drink when he spotted a woman with long blonde hair sitting at one of the tables. A familiar voice rang through the air.  
  
He looked away, then stopped and turned back. DJ was talking to a few people that he guessed were friends or co-workers. Dr. Death’s expression went still. He felt the same discomfort that he’d felt when Chow Mein walked into The Burning Tire, as if they gave off conflicting energies that couldn’t coexist in the same room. He bought the drinks and returned to their table, where Pony was nodding his head along with the music.  
  
“I just saw Kristan,” Dr. Death murmured.  
  
“I know,” Pony whispered. “I saw her a couple of minutes ago.”  
  
“Are you serious?” Dr. Death said. “Did she see you?”  
  
“I think so. She looked over here a couple of times.”  
  
Dr. Death glanced at her table, then sighed. “Let’s go say hello,” he said. “I don’t want her to think that we’re avoiding her.”   
  
Dr. Death backed away from the table and weaved through the crowd. DJ’s smile faded when they approached. Her friends stopped talking and looked up.  
  
“Hey, Kristan,” he said quietly.  
  
“Hey, Steve,” she said, toying with her glass. She lowered her eyes to the table.  
  
Pony gripped the back of Dr. Death’s chair and bounced on his feet. “We just wanted to see how you were doing,” he said. “We haven’t seen you in ages.”  
  
“I’ve been busy,” DJ said. “Lots of work coming in.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s been crazy,” said one of her friends, a stringy teenage boy with green hair and glasses. “Everybody’s been wrecking their tech this week for some reason. It’s like, National Fuck Your Shit Up Month.”  
  
Dr. Death chuckled. “Pony and I have been spending some time in Salt City,” he said. “Actually, they’ve been looking for an engineer. They’ve been doing some research on Destroya.”  
  
DJ nodded without looking at him. “We haven’t worked on androids in a while,” she said. “We get android parts sometimes.”  
  
“Well, if you’re interested, I can give you their number,” Dr. Death said. “They just started looking a couple of days ago. They’re paying twenty carbons for about half an hour of work.”  
  
DJ looked around uncomfortably, then nodded. Dr. Death scrawled a call number on the back of a card. “That’ll link you to Sadie,” he said. “She’s the one who’s running the show.”  
  
“Thanks,” DJ said. She slipped the card in her pocket.  
  
“You’re welcome,” Dr. Death said. He paused, then raised a hand in farewell. “All right, I won’t keep you any longer. Have a good night.”  
  
Two of her friends said goodbye, while one merely stared at him. They turned and headed back to the bar. Pony gulped down the rest of his drink. Dr. Death sighed and set his empty glass on the counter. The show was starting to wind down, with people drifting away from the stage and mingling around the front door.  
  
“Do you think she’s going to call Sadie?” Pony said.  
  
“I don’t have a clue,” Dr. Death said. He glanced back at her table, then turned back to the bar, where the bartender was pouring drinks at the end of the counter.  
  
\---  
  
DJ climbed up the side of Destroya’s massive skull, then gripped the eye socket and shined her flashlight inside. Thick wires were coiled inside the skull like massive snakes. She hoisted herself inside, wincing as she squeezed through the wires. Circuit boards bristling with tubes, fans, chips, and colored wires were crammed inside the skull. The knobs and chips glinted in the light. The air was stale and humid like the inside of a hot car.  
  
She shifted backward and dug a circuit out of her bag, then connected it to one of the circuit boards. The tiny light bulb attached to the circuit glowed dimly. Kristan blinked in surprise. She tried a few other components. Each time, the bulb weakly flickered to life. She wriggled backward and crawled out into the fresh air, where Sadie and Dr. Death waited outside.  
  
“It’s still functional,” she said. “It probably needs some repairs, but if you found a strong enough power source, I think you could get it running.”  
  
Sadie’s mouth fell open. “Are you serious?” she said.  
  
“It runs on electricity,” DJ said. “The outside is made of metal. You’d just need to find something with a strong power source that could conduct that energy.”  
  
“It’d have to be a hell of a power source, though, wouldn’t it?” Dr. Death said. “To power something that size?”  
  
DJ shrugged. “The power cells in the city are getting smaller and smaller,” she said. “They can power a whole android with a cell the size of an apple.”  
  
“Well, I just can’t believe this,” Sadie said, folding her arms. “I never in my life thought that Destroya would still be functional.”  
  
“As far as I can tell, it is,” DJ said. “The circuit lit up every time.”  
  
On the drive back to Salt City, Dr. Death handed DJ his copy of the Graffiti Bible. He opened the book to a page he’d marked near the middle. “There’s all kinds of diagrams in here,” he said. “Some of them look pretty old. That one looks like it’s from the 60s. And this thing is obviously ancient.”  
  
DJ scanned the diagrams on the page. “These look like android blueprints,” she said.  
  
“Yeah?” Dr. Death said.  
  
She nodded. “I think these are parts of different components,” she said. “This looks like it’s part of the central motor.” She handed him the book. “Yeah, they’re probably old blueprints from the city.”  
  
“You think the city built it?” Dr. Death said.  
  
“Who else would have?” DJ said.  
  
The first tents had started to appear. Sadie drove through the settlement, passing a growing number of tents, trailers, and shacks with aluminum roofs. The walls were decorated with mirrors, paint, fabric, glass bottles. Wiry antennae jutted from a few of the roofs like tree branches.  
  
“Thank you, by the way,” Dr. Death said quietly. DJ didn’t answer.


	35. Chapter 35

Chow Mein felt the crowd’s eyes on him as he entered The Burning Tire. His nose still throbbed, shooting a dull ache up into his forehead, but he barely registered it. He wove through the crowd and took a seat at Dr. Death’s table near the bar. The auctioneer was setting up boxes of supplies. Her hair was tied back in a sloppy bun that bobbed with her movements.  
  
After a few moments, he realized that Dr. Death was staring at him. “What?” he said, looking back at him.  
  
Dr. Death’s face was pale. “Tom, you’re covered in blood,” he said.  
  
Chow Mein stopped. He touched his nose, then pulled his hand away. Dried blood was smeared across his fingertips. He covered his mouth with his hand.  
  
“Go to the bathroom,” Dr. Death said. “Look at yourself in the mirror.”  
  
He hurried outside to the outhouse and opened the door. When he saw his reflection in the mirror, he drew in his breath. Blood was smeared across the lower half of his face, staining his shirt collar. The bridge of his nose was bruised. He crouched beside the water pump and washed the blood off his face, wincing whenever he touched his nose. The evening air was cool against his face. The auction had started when he re-entered the building, the auctioneer holding up a pair of boots.  
  
He sat down without looking at Dr. Death. His nose still throbbed, but the pain was beginning to subside. A few people looked at him, then quickly glanced away.  
  
“Tom, what the hell happened?” Dr. Death said quietly. Chow Mein shook his head as if he didn’t want to talk about it. “No, I’m serious, man. What happened? Did somebody _hit_ you?”  
  
“It was a business deal that went bad,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“What? Somebody didn’t like the price, so they sucker punched you?”  
  
“That’s the gist of it.”  
  
Dr. Death sucked in his breath. He studied the table as if he were at a loss for words. “Tom, I’m so sorry,” he said.  
  
Chow Mein lowered his eyes. The auctioneer handed the boots to a woman near the front, then drew a baggy jacket out of the crate.  
  
“Not that it’s any of my business, but is this a regular occurrence?” Dr. Death said.  
  
“No, it isn’t,” he said.  
  
“It used to be,” Dr. Death muttered. “Maybe they’re getting more civilized.”  
  
The auctioneer moved on to the next item, three books from an old encyclopedia. Dr. Death won an auction for a box of handmade soap. Chow Mein bid on a few items, but he felt vaguely detached from the proceedings. The pain had receded to a dull ache, but he barely noticed. Even his injuries seemed as irrelevant as a memory from the distant past.  
  
When the auction was over, he stood up and draped the jacket that he’d bought over his arm. Dr. Death stuffed his purchases into a suitcase. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Try to take care of yourself, man.”  
  
Chow Mein nodded, then raised a hand in farewell. He headed outside, where the cars gleamed dully in the last rays of sunlight. A car door slammed. He jumped, his heart racing, before he watched the car back out onto the highway. Dust clouds swirled on the pavement and dissipated into the air.  
  
\---  
  
More stories about Dr. Death floated through the airwaves: rumors, surprise appearances, news stories, popular broadcasts. Cherri’s friends at the diner, who were known as the “Fabulous Four,” became famous by association. They brought him supplies and donations, appeared on his broadcasts, helped out at events, and credited him for saving their lives through his mentoring. Replicas of their masks and jackets appeared on the market. For a short time, business at the store increased as people flocked to meet Cherri. But he quickly reminded people that he was there to do his job.  
  
Meanwhile, Dr. Death took a renewed interest in Destroya. He read passages from the Graffiti Bible on his broadcast and invited listeners to call in with their interpretations. Suddenly there was a demand for copies of the Bible. A few copies from Battery City appeared on the black market, while a bookseller made handwritten copies. More people moved to Salt City. One gang talked about smuggling an android out of the city so that she could tell them about the Bible, but that idea quickly fizzled out. Dr. Death’s show continued to climb in ratings, becoming as popular as some of the smaller city broadcasts.  
  
“Man, D’s really blown up,” Cherri said one day, leaning against the front desk. “I mean, he was always popular, but…I don’t know, man. Kobra said he can make ten carbons off one advertisement.”  
  
Chow Mein nodded. “I knew something was up when I saw him buy so much at the auction,” he said. “I’m sure he makes more than he’s letting on. He could probably live off ad revenue alone.”  
  
“Yeah. You’re probably right.” Cherri pressed his lips together and looked up at the ceiling. “Must be nice,” he said.  
  
“I’m sure it is,” Chow Mein said.  
  
More Killjoys appeared at the store in brightly colored masks and jackets, mimicking the Fab Four’s style. Party Poison started customizing ray guns. He painted Cherri’s gun for free, covering it in pink and adding black stripes. Bonfires increased. Concerts increased. Once somebody tried to set off a pink smoke bomb in the store parking lot. Energy hummed through the Zones like an electric current, as if people were starting to believe the myth that Destroya would save them from the desert.  
  
One day, Chow Mein received a call from a small town huddled in the center of a valley. He drove to a house covered in crumbling yellow paint. Weeds and grasses sprouted around the foundation. A man opened the door as soon as he stepped out of the car. He was tall and burly, with bristly facial hair and a reddened, sunburned face.  
  
“Are you the salesman?” the man said.  
  
“Yes, I am,” Chow Mein said, offering his hand. “Tom Curschmann.”  
  
“Dan Taylor.” Dan shook his hand. Chow Mein noticed that he gripped it tightly, as if he were trying to break his fingers. “Come in. Nancy’s waiting for you.”  
  
A short, stout woman with black-rimmed glasses sat on the couch. She stood up and shook his hand. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Nancy. Dolores is in her bedroom.” She jerked her head toward the hallway. “She wanted to greet you personally, but she’s not feeling up to it.”  
  
“Of course,” Chow Mein said. “I understand.”  
  
“She’s been battling lung cancer for about three months,” Nancy said. “We were getting treatment from a woman by the name of Willow, but she skipped town a couple of weeks ago. We don’t have a clue what happened to her.”  
  
“It’s not uncommon for suppliers to relocate,” Chow Mein said. “She might have found another opportunity elsewhere.”  
  
“I think that she was just drowning in debt,” Dan said.  
  
“That’s certainly a possibility.”  
  
“Well, sit down,” Nancy said, gesturing toward the couch. She sat down beside him. “So you said that you know someone who can get their hands on the treatment.”  
  
“Yes, I do,” he said. “I spoke to her last night. Her estimate is fifty carbons per round of treatment. She won’t charge for shipping, but we’ll both require the full payment up front.”  
  
Nancy’s mouth fell open. “Fifty carbons per treatment?” she said.  
  
“That’s the lowest dose,” he said. “Anything higher than that will be upwards of eighty carbons.”  
  
“Eighty carbons?” she said. “Oh, good Lord! We were paying thirty!”  
  
“You’re telling us that we neeed to pay fifty carbons for the lowest dose?” Dan said.  
  
“Yes, that’s right,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Who the hell are you talking to? Where are you getting this price?”  
  
“That’s actually the lowest price on the market,” he said. “Cancer treatment usually goes for sixty carbons or more.”  
  
“I don’t believe that,” Nancy said. “We were already straining our budget with thirty carbons each month, and now you want _fifty_?”  
  
“What the hell is the difference?” Dan said. “What changed?”  
  
Chow Mein sighed. “Your previous supplier was charging you thirty?” he said.  
  
“Yeah. Thirty a month.”  
  
“She was probably undercharging you, which is probably part of the reason that she left town. She couldn’t maintain her business and her debts caught up with her.”  
  
“I don’t believe this,” Nancy said. “I just don’t believe this!”  
  
She jumped to her feet, shaking her head in frustration. Chow Mein stood up. He stepped back when Dan moved forward.  
  
“You know, Tom, I think you need to rethink your priorities,” Dan said. “We’ve got a sick old woman dying back here, and you’re telling us that you’re marking up the price.”  
  
“Sir, if you want treatment, your best option is to return to the city,” Chow Mein said. “No one in the Zones can adequately treat cancer. The most they can give her is a few extra months.”  
  
“No,” Nancy said immediately. “We’re not going back there.”  
  
“I can’t give you the treatment for thirty carbons,” he said. “I’m sorry if you’re used to paying a different price, but that shouldn’t have happened. Your past supplier was acting irresponsibly.”  
  
“Is it irresponsible to help a sick old lady?” Nancy said. “We know you’ve got a whole business going. You can afford it.”  
  
“That’s not true,” he said.  
  
“Bullshit, it’s not true. It’s only twenty carbons a month, why the hell not? Is twenty carbons worth an old woman’s life to you?”  
  
“If there were another option, I would take it,” he said.  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Nancy muttered. She clasped her face in her hands and stepped away from the couch. Dan glared at him as if he’d just insulted her.  
  
“Tom, I don’t think much of you as a man,” Dan said. “And I’ll tell you something else. One of these days, you’re going to have to answer for the way you’ve treated people.”  
  
“I can’t afford to have my business go under,” he said. When Dan started to interrupt, he said “No. Listen to me. If I went under, your only options would be to go back to the city, talk to the fringe suppliers who are probably selling fake treatments, or talk to the black market directly.”  
  
“So you think you’re doing us some kind of favor, is that it?” Dan said. “No. You know what, Tom? After what we’ve heard today, and after the way I’ve heard you treat other people, I think the best favor you can do the Zones is to put a gun to your head and pull the trigger.”  
  
The entire room went silent, as if the air had suddenly been cut off. Chow Mein stood in front of him, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he looked like he were about to speak. Then he looked away, wiping a hand across his face.  
  
“Jesus, Dan,” Nancy hissed.  
  
“I don’t regret it,” Dan said. “Because it’s true. You’ve heard the way they talk about him. He shits on everyone just to make a profit.”  
  
Chow Mein looked at him coldly. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. Finally, he said “If she dies, it will be because of your refusal to go back to the city.”  
  
“Just get the hell out of my house,” Dan said.  
  
Chow Mein turned and swept out the door. Grasses brushed against his legs as he walked to the car. As he unlocked the door, something dark seemed to be gathering in the back of his mind. When he turned on the engine, he switched off the radio and drove in silence.  
  
\---  
  
“Tom, is something bothering you?” Dr. Death said quietly.  
  
They sat at the table in The Burning Tire while the auctioneer sold off a set of towels. The crowd was so large that several people stood against the walls. Dr. Death’s table had lost all but one of its chairs.  
  
“Excuse me?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“I just feel like something’s on your mind,” Dr. Death said. “You’ve been acting kind of funny lately.”  
  
“In what way have I been acting funny?”  
  
“Cherri told Kobra that you’ve started writing all your notes in English,” Dr. Death said.  
  
“Does that seem unusual to you?”  
  
“It is for someone who’s always written in German,” Dr. Death said. “He said that you’ve been telling him to call in case of an emergency, too. In case something happens.”  
  
“Steve, these are ordinary precautions.”  
  
“Tom, I don’t mean to pry into your business too much, but…does this have anything to do with you getting punched in the face a few weeks ago?” he said. “I mean, do you think that something’s going to happen to you?”  
  
“Of course something’s going to happen to me,” he said. “I’ve known this for years. No supplier lives to see old age.”  
  
“You don’t know that. I mean, you’re in your forties. You’ve lasted longer out here than a lot of people.”  
  
Chow Mein shook his head, closing his eyes. Something seemed to be building under the surface.  
  
“Tom, I’m a little worried about you,” Dr. Death said.  
  
“Are you?” he said dismissively.  
  
“I just don’t think this is like you,” he said. “Cherri also said something about you acting more jittery lately—”  
  
“Steve, just mind your own business, for Christ’s sake.”  
  
Dr. Death fell silent. “I’m sorry,” he said after a few moments. Chow Mein didn’t look at him.  
  
That night, after his final broadcast of the day, Dr. Death grabbed his address book and searched for a frequency on his transmitter. Pony was reheating a pot of soup in the kitchen. The smell of beef and cooked vegetables filled the air. Dr. Death switched off the last of his radio equipment, then leaned back in his chair.  
  
“Hey, this is Dr. Death Defying,” he said into the transmitter. “I’m looking for a Dr. Lana?”  
  
“ _This is she_ ,” Lana said.  
  
“Great,” he said. “Listen, I’ve…got this friend that I’ve been worried about lately. He’s a supplier. He deals with tons of shit, you know. People threatening him, getting physical with him. It’s not anything new, but I’m starting to worry about how it’s affecting him.”  
  
“ _Have you noticed any changes in his behavior recently?_ ” she said.  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, we don’t talk a whole lot, but the kid that works for him is friends with someone I know. He said he’s been more anxious lately. He jumps at everything, flinches easily, has trouble sitting still, that kind of thing.”  
  
“ _Right_ ,” she said. “ _You said that he’s been physically attacked?_ ”  
  
“Oh, yeah. Just a few weeks ago, he came up to me with blood all over his face. Some guy had busted his nose. Didn’t like his prices, so he turned around and decked him.”  
  
“ _Well, an incident like that can certainly cause anxiety_ ,” Lana said. “ _Has this happened to him before?_ ”  
  
“Yeah. Quite a few times. He’s had some pretty bad experiences, to be honest.”  
  
“ _Right_ ,” she said again. There was a scratching sound, as if she were writing something down. “ _Do you want me to go talk to him?_ ”  
  
“Yeah, if you don’t mind,” Dr. Death said, rubbing his forehead. “I mean, I can’t guarantee that he’ll say anything to you. He’s usually pretty reserved. But if you can just talk to him, let him know you’re around…”  
  
“ _Well, I’ll certainly try my best_ ,” she said. “ _Could you give me his name and address?_ ”  
  
“He’s usually at the store,” Dr. Death said, reaching for the address book. “Hang on, I’ll get the address for you.”  
  
After they finalized the details, Dr. Death wheeled into the kitchen. Pony had opened the windows, filling the air with the sound of crickets. Candles glowed on the counter. Steam wafted from the pot that he was stirring on the stove. “All done?” Pony said, sipping from the ladle.  
  
“Yup. All done for the night.”  
  
He opened a cabinet and took down the bowls. As Pony dished out the soup, his mind wandered back to the auction. His eyes followed the steam as it rose from the bowls. He tried to shake off the thoughts, but he found himself thinking about it while they ate, and still thinking about it after dinner and long after they’d gone to bed.  
  
\---  
  
The next day, a woman in a heavy fur-lined coat entered the store. She looked around the store, then smiled tentatively at Chow Mein, who was filing records behind the desk. “Hi,” she said. “Are you Tom Curschmann?”  
  
He looked at her in surprise. “Yes, I am,” he said.  
  
“I’m Dr. Lana Huxley,” she said, shaking his hand. “Some people call me the local therapist. I was certified to practice in Battery City. I worked there for five years until I left a few months ago.”  
  
“Did you?” he said.  
  
“Yes, I did,” she said. “I don’t know if you know this, but one of your friends called me last night. He wanted me to talk to you for a bit, just to see how you’re doing.”  
  
“Steve?” he said immediately.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Steve? Dr. Death Defying? Did he speak to you?”  
  
“Yes, he’s the one who contacted me,” she said. “Would you mind if we talked for a few minutes? I promise I won’t take up much of your time.”  
  
“I can’t step away from the desk right now,” he said. “My employee’s making a delivery.”  
  
“That’s fine,” she said. “Are you comfortable here?”  
  
“Yes, I’m fine.”  
  
“Good.” She opened her notebook and turned to a page in the back. “Your friend—Steve—he thinks that you’ve been having some problems with anxiety. Have you reported feeling anxious lately? Kind of jittery or nervous, like your mind is racing, or you can’t sit still?”  
  
He took a breath. “Ma’am, I don’t see a reason to divulge that type of information,” he said.  
  
“I understand,” she said. “Could you explain to me why you don’t feel comfortable sharing it?”  
  
“Because I don’t know who you are or what you’re going to do with it.”  
  
She nodded. “That’s a common concern for suppliers,” she said. “Do you often feel like you can’t trust people?”  
  
“I don’t think that’s uncommon in my line of work.”  
  
“You’re right,” she said. “It isn’t. In fact, Steve mentioned that you’ve been harassed in the past.”  
  
“Did he happen to mention that his friends were behind most of the harassment?” he said.  
  
She blinked. “No, he didn’t.”  
  
He nodded, as if he’d been expecting this. “Of course he didn’t,” he said. “Ma’am, I understand that you’re just doing your job, but I can’t continue this.”  
  
“Of course,” she said. “I understand. Would you like my card? If you ever change your mind, just call me at this number.”  
  
She handed him a business card that looked like it had been printed in Battery City. The phone number had been scratched out and replaced with a call number. He thanked her, then tucked it in the back of his address book. She smiled and waved at him as if they were old friends.  
  
When they saw each other at the next auction, Dr. Death was counting the money in his wallet. He stopped counting and looked up, then tucked the wallet in his military vest. “Hey, Tom,” he said.  
  
Chow Mein nodded to him in acknowledgement. “Is there a reason that you sent a therapist to my store?” he said as he sat down at the table.  
  
Dr. Death sighed, tapping a pack of cards against the table. “Tom, I’m just a little worried about you,” he said.  
  
“You’re worried about me,” he repeated. “Why?”  
  
“Because to be honest with you, you remind me of myself after the wars.”  
  
“What does that mean?”  
  
Dr. Death grimaced and looked away, then leaned forward. “Look, I’m going to tell you something that I’ve never told anyone except Pony,” he said. “After the wars, I was depressed out of my mind. I was totally withdrawn, wouldn’t leave my tent, wouldn’t talk to anyone. Kristan got me out of there, and don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for that, but it never really went away.”  
  
“Yes, I know this,” Chow Mein said quietly.  
  
“That’s not what I’m getting at. What I’m getting at is this—when you and I first met, on that day you showed up to the house, I was planning on killing myself.”   
  
Chow Mein didn’t respond. He just looked at him blankly.  
  
“I’m not saying that’s what you’re going through,” Dr. Death said. “I just…I want you to get help before you reach that point. Know what I mean?”  
  
Chow Mein took a breath, then looked away. Finally, he said “Steve, is this all an attempt to clear your conscience?”  
  
“What?” Dr. Death said.  
  
“Do you think that sending me to therapy and finding work for Kristan will change anything between us?”  
  
“No, I—Jesus, Tom, why do you always assume that people have an ulterior motive?”  
  
“I’ve found that most people do.”  
  
“That’s bullshit,” Dr. Death said. “That’s your anxiety speaking. Look, what I’m saying right now has nothing to do with us. I know I fucked things up. I get it. I understand that. I just don’t want you to end up like I did.”  
  
“Why?” he said curtly.  
  
“Because I love you,” Dr. Death said. He was met with silence. “I’m serious, man. That’s it. I love you, and I don’t want any bad shit to happen to you.”  
  
Chow Mein turned away, taking a shaky breath. He seemed to be struggling with something. Finally, he stood up and pushed in the chair.  
  
“If you want forgiveness, you’ll have to forgive yourself,” he said. “You’re not getting it from me.”  
  
Before Dr. Death could respond, he swept away from the table. The crowd laughed and cheered around him as the auctioneer sold off a pair of Mad Gear tickets that the singer had donated for charity. Something burned in the back of his throat. His eyes stung as if he’d stepped out in a sandstorm. He weaved through the bustling crowd and stepped out into the cool silence of evening, where the familiar sound of crickets greeted him in the darkness.


	36. Chapter 36

**2019  
  
** Lights and dials, digital readouts, and a greenish TV screen blinked and glowed in the communications room. Dr. Death watched the TV screen while Newsie spoke on the transmitter. A commercial played for Dead Pegasus fuel, the picture grainy and distorted. Buzzing audio hissed from the speaker. Newsie ended the call and tucked the transmitter on a shelf crammed with radio equipment.  
  
“He just confirmed it,” she said. “There was a food riot in the Lobby.”  
  
“Was anybody hurt?” Dr. Death said. **  
  
** “So far, they’re saying that nine people were injured,” she said. “The city hasn’t reported on it officially. He thinks that when they do, they’re going to try to say that the homeless started it.”  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Dr. Death said. “Yeah, of course they would. Anything to keep the blame off their shoulders.”  
  
“He also said that the price of bread went up three carbons,” she said. “That probably had something to do with it.”  
  
Dr. Death closed his eyes and shook his head. “God, I wish we could just get everyone out of there,” he said. “I know the Zones have their own issues, but the city doesn’t give a fuck. They’re just exploiting them.”  
  
“It’s probably just going to get worse,” Newsie said. “They’re going to be hit hardest by the grain shortage. We might actually see more refugees by the end of the year.”  
  
“Yeah, let’s hope so,” he said. “Unless the city tightens down security even more. Right now it’s nearly impossible to get out.”  
  
After Newsie shut down her equipment, they headed to the kitchen, where she cooked noodles on a hot plate. Steam rose from the pot as she added the powdered sauce. They ate quietly at the table. A ceramic maneki-neko sat in the center of the table, next to the candleholder. Newsie poured water from a glass jug.  
  
“I wonder if your show is still being played in the city,” Newsie said after a while.  
  
“I have no idea,” Dr. Death said. “Last I heard, there were a couple of links, but I know the city’s been on to that for a while. They’ve probably got them all shut down.”  
  
“Well, I hope someone’s still listening in there,” Newsie said. “People need to learn that there’s a life outside the city.”  
  
“Yeah. No kidding. The city’s probably still telling them that it’s a barren wasteland out here.”  
  
Newsie’s handheld transmitter suddenly buzzed. “Excuse me,” she said. She stepped out onto the porch. Her figure was silhouetted in front of the window curtains. Dr. Death stirred his noodles, eating slowly. When Newsie stepped back inside, her eyes were wide.  
  
“There’s an emergency broadcast right now,” she said. “Come on. A couple of people were just arrested.”  
  
“Wait—what? What’s going on?”  
  
He hurried after her into the communications room. She switched on the TV. A news anchor was speaking in front of a Battery City rehab clinic. As she spoke, Japanese subtitles flashed across the screen.  
  
“— _were apprehended after it was discovered that they were developing a plot to attack Battery City_ ,” the anchor said. Pictures of Val and Volume appeared on the screen beside her. “ _The suspects are twenty-nine-year-old Vsevolod Ilyich Vasiliev, originally from the Neon District, and twenty-six-year-old James Moody, a native of Zone One. Both men have been taken to the rehabilitation center behind me for a psychological evaluation.”_ She paused, touching her earpiece. _“All right, I’m now being told that we’re about to go live to Scarecrow Korse for an official report on the situation_.”  
  
The screen changed to footage of Korse walking up to a podium. His expression was as hard and emotionless as if it had been carved out of concrete. Two Scarecrow officials stood behind him, one a scruffy man in a black uniform, the other a woman in white with bright orange hair. Korse pressed a few buttons on a digital tablet and laid it on the podium.  
  
“ _At 9:03 A.M., we received intelligence that two individuals had been gathering information about a defunct android_ ,” Korse read from the tablet. “ _The android in question is registered as DTSA-09 and has been depowered for several decades_ …”  
  
Dr. Death and Newsie stared at the screen as the press conference went on. From the report, they gathered that Val and Volume had been arrested for plotting to activate Destroya. An anonymous person in Salt City had reported them to one of the neutrals, who contacted the city. The rest of the Vs had fled the Nest, but a Draculoid unit was searching the area.  
  
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Dr. Death said. “This is bad. They’re going to be rioting in the streets.”  
  
“You better say something,” Newsie said. “I think it’ll be better if they hear it from you.”  
  
“Yeah. You’re right. I better get on this before the rumors start flying.”  
  
Dr. Death headed back to his house, where he gave an emergency broadcast on the situation. Within minutes, the news flashed across the airwaves. People shouted and argued, shared rumors, and called Dr. Death’s station, demanding answers. One station tried to organize a search party to find and shelter the rest of the Vs. Another started plotting to storm the city border. Newsie scoured the TV stations, but after the initial report, there were no new updates.  
  
“I think we need to figure out what’s going on with Destroya,” Dr. Death told her over the transmitter. “You know this isn’t the end of it.”  
  
“I know,” Newsie said. “Just give me a couple of minutes until the news is over. I’ll start making calls.”  
  
\--- ****  
  
The next morning, Cherri returned from a delivery with a newspaper tucked under his arm. “Here,” he said, handing it to Chow Mein, who stood behind the desk. “Here’s a paper with the whole report. It’s got news on Val and Volume, too.”  
  
Cherri folded his arms and peered over his shoulder as he scanned the article. The headline read _Two Desert Rebels Arrested on Suspicion of Terrorist Plot._ Black-and-white pictures of Val and Volume were printed next to the article along with their full names. Val had always struck him as vaguely familiar, but with a jolt, Chow Mein realized that he was the thief with the radiation burns that he and DJ had met years ago. Val glared at him from the grainy image.  
  
“People are trying to activate Destroya,” Cherri said. “They think the Vs were on to something.”  
  
“Are you serious?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Yeah. I heard about it on the radio. They’ve got engineers over there, trying to figure out how to get it running.”  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Chow Mein said. “For all they know, it might be a weapon. When they turn it on, it might blast them with radiation.”  
  
“I know,” Cherri said. “Believe me, people have been fighting about this all morning. It’s all over the radio.”  
  
They kept the radio on throughout the day. Some Killjoys called for Destroya to be activated, while others protested, saying that it was a cultural and religious icon. Engineers found no trace of radiation or weaponry, but admitted that most of the android was buried beneath the surface. People brought every power source they could think of to try to power the android: generators, car batteries, power cells. Nothing worked.  
  
Meanwhile, other Killjoy gangs plotted Val and Volume’s escape. A few gangs planned to storm the city, but backed down when they learned about the increased security at the border. Rumors claimed that the rest of the Vs had been found and hidden in a secret location. The Draculoid unit was called back to the city for an undisclosed reason. A news report claimed that Val and Volume had already made two breakout attempts, neither of them successful.  
  
Around noon, the store’s transmitter buzzed. “Hello?” Chow Mein said, sorting files in his office.  
  
“ _Yeah, hey. Is this Tommy that I’m speaking to? Tommy Chow Mein?_ ”  
  
“Yes ma’am,” he said.  
  
“ _All right. Do you deal in androids?_ ”  
  
“Do I deal in androids?” he repeated. “No, I don’t. No one deals in androids.”  
  
“ _Are you sure about that?_ ”  
  
“Some sellers deal in android parts,” he said. “But you won’t find live androids outside the city.”  
  
She cursed under her breath. “ _All right_ ,” she said. “ _Thanks anyway. Bye_.”  
  
The call ended. He raised his eyebrows, then laid the transmitter on a stack of papers. He was straightening a file when Cherri stuck his head in the doorway. “Hey,” he said. “You better come listen to this.”  
  
He followed Cherri to the front desk. A grainy news report played from the radio speakers, as if the broadcaster were holding the microphone up to a TV screen. A customer had stopped in the middle of the floor to listen.  
  
“— _was delayed for several years due to lack of funding_ ,” the news anchor said. “ _But after today’s incident, Better Living has made the project their top priority_ —”  
  
“They’re sending people out to dismantle Destroya,” Cherri said in response to his questioning look. “They’re probably going to take over Salt City. They’re saying that it might take two weeks just to do the skull. Then they’ve gotta excavate the entire area.”  
  
Chow Mein looked at him in surprise. “Dracs and Killjoys can’t coexist out here,” he said. “They’ll be tearing each other apart before nightfall.”  
  
“I know,” Cherri said. “It’s going to be bad, man. This is really bad.”  
  
The customer turned and hurried out of the store, grabbing her transmitter from her purse. Cherri sighed and rubbed his face, then folded his arms. They stood in front of the desk, listening to the broadcast for several minutes until it abruptly cut out.  
  
\---  
  
Dr. Death and Newsie watched the broadcast on the TV screen, a greenish glow cast over their faces. Blurry photographs of Destroya flashed across the screen. Footage showed androids in the Lobby protesting in the streets. In a public announcement from Flare, one of Korse’s partners, she announced that dismantling Destroya was the safest option for all citizens.  
  
“I think people need to get out of there,” Dr. Death said. “You know people are going to be fighting this. If it gets bad, it’s going to lead to a shoot-out.”  
  
“I know, but should we be clearing the city’s path to Destroya?” Newsie said. “I mean, shouldn’t there be some resistance?”  
  
“I’m sure there’s going to be plenty of that,” Dr. Death said. “You know all the big gangs are going to be showing up. We just need to get the bystanders out of there.”  
  
Newsie nodded. She watched the screen, running a finger over her mouth.  
  
“I wonder why the city is so scared of it,” she said.  
  
“I don’t know,” Dr. Death said. “Maybe Tom was always right about it. Maybe it’s a weapon.”  
  
“Yes, but don’t you think the city would be happy if we blew ourselves up?” she said. “Why do they see it as such a threat to themselves?”  
  
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s programmed to attack the city.”  
  
She nodded thoughtfully, still watching the screen. “You should probably go make the broadcast,” she said.  
  
“Yeah. Definitely.”  
  
He broadcasted the news to the Zones, urging the people of Salt City to evacuate. Several gangs volunteered to protect them and keep the Dracs from advancing on Destroya. Rumors of Draculoid sightings flitted across the airwaves. After a while, he switched off his equipment and sat in the radio room in silence. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The silence seemed to protect him from the growing commotion outside, like a soundproof bomb shelter.  
  
Footsteps sounded behind him. “I just talked to the guys,” Pony said. “Poison and Kobra are headed to Salt City.”  
  
Dr. Death sighed heavily. “I knew that was coming,” he said. “God, I didn’t want those two getting involved.”  
  
“Kobra said it’s their job to protect them,” Pony said.  
  
“It’s their job, huh? Who told them they had a job?”  
  
“Well…you did,” Pony said. “You always say that we’re supposed to help and protect each other.”  
  
Dr. Death looked off into the distance. “I don’t know what the hell I’m saying anymore,” he said. “This might be the end of us. If the city gets a foothold here, they’re probably going to wipe us out. Shut down all the pirate stations. Start instituting their own employees and controlling the market again.”  
  
“You don’t know that will happen,” Pony said quietly. “Maybe they’ll fight them off.”  
  
He laughed humorlessly. “Yeah. A couple of Killjoy gangs against a fully-trained squad of Dracs. I think we’re doomed.”  
  
“Well, that’s not the only thing,” Pony said. “I talked to Sadie while you were on the radio.”  
  
“Yeah?” he said disinterestedly. “What’d she have to say?”  
  
“Something very interesting.”  
  
“What? What is it?”  
  
Pony held up the transmitter. “She thinks they’ve figured out how to activate Destroya.”


	37. Chapter 37

Chow Mein paced back and forth in his kitchen. Night had fallen. The radio crackled on the table, spitting news about fights, riots, fires and overturned cars. Rumors claimed that people were bringing android parts to Salt City. Several people had called him, looking to buy parts and power cells, but he declined to sell them. He had called Cherri a few times, but received no response. His body seemed to be plagued with an inner restlessness, like an overcharged battery.  
  
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. He jumped and turned around as if someone had grabbed him by the shoulder. He slipped on his jacket and swept to the door. When he opened it, Cherri stood outside. A wave of relief swept over him. “Come in,” he said, locking the door behind him.  
  
Cherri followed him into the kitchen. “They got Kobra,” he said.  
  
“What?” he said.  
  
“Kobra,” Cherri said breathlessly. “There was a big gunfight, and—they got five or six hostages. Kobra was one of them. I think they drove them off to the outpost.”  
  
“What outpost?”  
  
“People are saying there’s an outpost up north. I don’t know. I haven’t seen it. But they’re probably going to interrogate him and take him to the city.” Cherri rubbed a hand across his face, breathing hard. “Tom, I’m scared out of my mind right now. Poison even gave me his mask—” He drew the yellow mask out from inside his jacket. “He said that he can’t be a Killjoy anymore. He thinks that he failed his brother.”  
  
“Did you just come from the diner?”  
  
“Yeah. People are plotting to storm the city, and find this outpost, and…shit, man. I don’t know what to do.” Cherri ran a hand through his hair. His eyes were wet. “The only thing keeping the Dracs back is a bunch of gangs from Zone Two. If they send a squad of ‘Crows out here, it’s all over.”  
  
“All right,” Chow Mein said. “Sit down. Where did you say this outpost was located?”  
  
He was reaching for his transmitter when the radio suddenly sputtered and went dead. The light winked off, the speakers went silent. A moment later, the radio sprung back to life, static hissing from the speakers. Cherri stared at the radio in stunned silence. He glanced up at Chow Mein, who shared his fearful look.  
  
Chow Mein grabbed his transmitter. “Hello?” he said. “Steve?”  
  
“ _Yeah?_ ” Dr. Death said. “ _Tom? Is that you?_ ”  
  
“Yes, it’s me,” he said. “What the hell is going on?”  
  
Dr. Death sighed and shifted in his seat. “ _I’m guessing you felt that power surge?_ ”  
  
“Yes, I did.”  
  
“ _Newsie got word that someone found a live android. They brought it to Destroya and—hang on._ ” Voices murmured in the background. “ _She’s getting word that—wait. Okay. She’s getting word that it switched on for a moment, but then it went dead again. The android was too old. Didn’t have enough power._ ”  
  
“So you’re telling me that they’ve figured out how to activate it?”  
  
“ _If they get a newer model, then yeah. They’ll probably switch it on_.”  
  
His insides went cold. “Steve, you can’t allow this,” he said.  
  
“ _Tom, you think I have any control over what they do?_ ” he said. “ _It’s over, man. It’s happening_.”  
  
“And if they get it activated, what next?” he said. “Will it rip itself out of the ground and tear through Salt City? Will the city drop a bomb on our heads?”  
  
“ _Tom, I don’t know what’s going to happen_ ,” Dr. Death said wearily. “ _You think I have the answers to this shit? I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. I never have_.”  
  
“That’s not true,” he said. “Steve, you have more influence than anyone else in the Zones. If the Killjoys listen to anyone, it’s you.”  
  
“ _No, they listen to me when I tell them what they want to hear. When I’m screwing around on the radio, playing music, giving the weather report—that’s when they listen. They don’t want to hear the serious shit. I’m just a distraction_.”  
  
“That isn’t true,” he said. “The Vs listened to you, the Four listen to you—everyone listens to you, for Christ’s sake. Everyone goes to you for guidance.”  
  
“ _Yeah, like the guidance I gave the Vs. Or the Moonbeam Gang. You think I’ve helped anyone, Tom? Have I helped Kristan? Have I helped you?_ ”  
  
He closed his eyes. “All right, this isn’t the time for this,” he said. “I’m going to the black market. I’ll find whatever androids they have available. I’ll make a deal with them, take on months of debt, I don’t care. I’m not letting them activate that monster.”  
  
He switched off the transmitter. When he looked up, Cherri’s eyes were red. But he shook his head and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. “I’ll go with you,” he said.  
  
“There’s no need for that,” Chow Mein said. He swept over to the back door, checking the lock. “Stay here and keep the doors locked. Keep an eye on the radio.”  
  
“Tom, you’re not going out there by yourself,” Cherri said.  
  
“Do you have a better plan?”  
  
“Look, you know what kind of people are on the road at night,” Cherri said. “If you go out there alone, you’ll be a target. You know that.”  
  
“Cherri, I don’t like the idea of you possibly running into a nest of Dracs.”  
  
“If I stay here, I’ll be headed for that anyway,” he said. “That’s why the guys wanted me to come over here. They knew that you wouldn’t let me go to Salt City.”  
  
“Are you saying that you’re going to Salt City if I leave you here?”  
  
“I might,” he said. “I don’t know. I just—I need a distraction right now.”  
  
He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “Fine,” he said. “Go check the rest of the house. Make sure the windows are locked.”  
  
After closing up the house, Chow Mein grabbed the car keys and hurried out the front door. Cherri darted behind him. He checked his ray gun while Chow Mein started the car. The headlights illuminated sharp tufts of grass that appeared almost white in the blinding light.  
  
They drove until they reached an abandoned grocery store. Shadows passed in front of the glass windows. Chow Mein spoke to a few people, occasionally speaking in what Cherri suspected was code. Finally, one of the sellers directed him to a radio network. He made the call in one of the back rooms. He was linked through a few people until he finally received coordinates. He drove to a location a few miles west of the black market, where the desert was empty except for a white structure like a small artificial hill.  
  
Their feet crunched on the dry grasses as they walked. The white structure appeared bluish in the moonlight. As they approached, Cherri realized that it was a domelike structure, similar to a UFO, with the door tucked in a slot in the middle. Three wooden boards led to the door like a path on the ground. Chow Mein crouched in front of the structure and knocked on the door.  
  
“Who is it?” said a female voice from inside.  
  
“It’s Tom,” he said. “I’m looking to buy a car battery.”  
  
The door slid open. A woman with red hair peeked out from the bottom. Cherri narrowed his eyes and peered over her shoulder. A wide open room was set into the ground, like a large cellar. The walls were made of grey concrete. Boxes, shelves, crates, and cartons cluttered the space. Posters and red Christmas lights hung from the walls.  
  
“Hey, Tom,” Christy said. She took a drag from her cigarette and blew out the smoke. “You trying to strike while the iron’s hot?”  
  
“Actually, I’m trying to keep it from falling in the wrong hands,” he said.  
  
“I hear that,” she said. “I’ve had total strangers looking for me since this shit started. I tell Jamie not to give them my coords. I don’t want to end up on the bad end of a robbery.”  
  
“Do you know if anyone else is selling batteries?” he said.  
  
“I don’t know what goes on in other Zones, but I doubt it,” she said. “I’ve never heard of a battery making it past Zone Two. Anything else you find is probably from the late 90s. Besides this one, I haven’t seen a full battery in years, and I only got this one because it was part of an experiment.”  
  
She opened a refrigerator box that was propped up against the back corner, then hauled out the android. Chow Mein drew back. The android’s hair was bright neon yellow, but her synthetic skin looked as soft as living flesh. Her eyes were half-lidded, her mouth open. The Christmas lights were reflected in her black latex outfit like beads.  
  
“It’s not powered up, but that won’t take long to do,” Christy said. She turned the android around, revealing a conglomerate of plastic and computer chips attached to the back of her neck. “This is what they used to keep it working outside of the city. That gets damaged, and it’s all over.”  
  
“I’m not concerned about that,” Chow Mein said. “How much?”  
  
“One thousand carbons.”  
  
Cherri drew in his breath. Chow Mein’s expression didn’t change.  
  
“I can’t make the whole payment tonight,” Chow Mein said. “But I can cover about a fifth of it.”  
  
“Two hundred carbons?” she said. “All right. I’ll take that for now. I know you’re good for the rest of it.”  
  
“It’s not in cash,” he said.  
  
She frowned and looked around him. “What the hell did you bring that’s worth two hundred carbons?”  
  
He drew out a yellow mask from inside his jacket. Christy’s eyes widened. Cherri looked away.  
  
“No way,” Christy said. “Is that the real thing?”  
  
“It’s real,” Cherri said with a hint of strain in his voice.  
  
She took the mask and turned it around in her hands, then handed it back to him. “Jesus, I don’t know,” she said. “You know that’s not always a sure thing. Especially now.”  
  
“I know,” he said. “But to be honest with you, I’m expecting the price to increase. Especially after this. They’re going to be seen as martyrs.”  
  
“You think they’re going to get killed, Tom?”  
  
“No, but they’ll certainly be seen as heroes for their cause.”  
  
Cherri coughed uncomfortably and looked away. Chow Mein winced, as if he’d realized his mistake.  
  
“I should be able to pay you off by the end of the year,” he said. “I can’t promise it, but I don’t have any other debts.”  
  
“You’re looking at a pretty big debt here,” she said. “Are you sure that you want to do this?”  
  
“Anything to keep them from activating that monster,” he muttered. “If the city weren’t interfering, I’m sure that we’d all be—”  
  
Something changed in the air. Cherri turned his head sharply. A hint of vibration murmured in the wind, like an engine rumbling in the distance. Chow Mein slowly climbed to his feet. The rumbling grew louder. A pair of headlights appeared on the horizon like an animal peering over the hill.  
  
“Shit,” Cherri said. “Shit! Tom, get to the car!”  
  
He started for the car, but the white car was already coasting down the hill. The car turned off the highway, the headlights casting across the grasses. Chow Mein’s heart pounded as he fumbled with the car keys. The light glinted off the hood of the car. He stepped back, the lights temporarily blinding him. The car parked in front of the structure, the engine still rumbling.  
  
Cherri pulled out his ray gun. “Put the gun down, sir,” the first Drac said as he stepped out of the car. “Don’t even try it.” A second Drac emerged from the car. While they took aim at the two men, the third Drac kicked the door of the structure. “Open up,” she said. “We got word that you’re selling androids in here.”  
  
“I’m not selling anything!” Christy shrieked. “Go away!”  
  
The second Drac flashed a scanner over his body and roughly grabbed the ray gun inside his jacket. He handcuffed his wrists behind his back and pushed him into the backseat of the car. A moment later, Cherri was shoved in beside him. The Drac sat next to them while his partner took the driver’s seat.  
  
“We’ve got two in handcuffs, heading back to E,” the first Drac said into a transmitter. “Requesting backup to location I-16.”  
  
The desert flashed past the windows in a streak of black. The floor of the car vibrated under his feet, giving an almost numbing sensation. Nobody spoke aside from the occasional update from the transmitter. Once he would have felt electrifying fear, but the panic seemed to have drained from his body, leaving a quiet, listless feeling. Not once did he look at Cherri. The car seemed to be taking him to his logical conclusion, as if he had been heading there all along.  
  
When they reached the outpost, the first Drac grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the car. The motel windows were covered with white plastic sheets. Several cars were parked in front of the sidewalk. The Drac pushed him inside and led him down the hallway. Fluorescent lights had been installed in the ceiling, with wires trailing to the generators that hummed on the floor. More plastic sheets replaced a few of the doors. White-suited employees bustled down the hallway, a few staring at him as they passed.  
  
The Drac swiped his ID card and opened one of the doors. A scruffy man in a black jacket was pacing around in the motel room. Chow Mein vaguely recognized him as Sprawl, one of Korse’s partners. When Sprawl looked up, his face lit up as if the Drac had brought him a gift.  
  
“You got him!” Sprawl said.  
  
“We’ve got Agent Cherri Cola, too,” the Drac said.  
  
“You got Cherri Cola?” Sprawl said. “Oh, shit, this is too good. Where do we put him?” He paced around the room, rubbing his hands together. “Cuff him to the sink,” he said suddenly. “Yeah. Right there.”  
  
The Drac dragged him into the bathroom and handcuffed him to the pipe under the sink. Suddenly the Drac grabbed him by the jaw and forced him to look at him. Chow Mein resisted the urge to pull away. An anonymous pair of eyes studied him from behind the rubber mask.  
  
“Yeah, doesn’t he look like someone that Korse would want to fuck?” Sprawl said.  
  
The Drac gave a deep laugh. “I was actually thinking that he looks like one of those suppliers,” he said. “I didn’t get a good look at him before.” He released him and stood up.  
  
“Oh yeah,” Sprawl said. “Tommy Chow Mein. He’s not Chinese, he just pretends to be.”  
  
“I gathered that,” the Drac said.  
  
The Drac’s transmitter buzzed. He headed out of the room, answering the call as he went. Sprawl crouched down on the floor in front of Chow Mein, cradling his face in hand. The pose reminded him strikingly of Pony.  
  
“The city’s had its eye on your friend for a long time,” Sprawl said.  
  
“Cherri had nothing to do with this,” Chow Mein said immediately. “He had no idea about the android. I asked him to accompany me for protection—”  
  
“Oh please, Tommy, he knew exactly what he was getting into,” Sprawl said. “It’s not a coincidence that a couple of Killjoys decided to buy an android tonight.”  
  
“That’s not what I said.”  
  
“Tommy, nobody gives a shit. Okay? Because as soon as the big man gets in here, you’re going to be spilling the truth out anyway.”  
  
Sprawl jumped to his feet and spoke into his transmitter, then started pacing in front of the dresser, occasionally glancing at the door. Twice he opened the door and spoke to someone in the hallway. Chow Mein sat on the floor, the handcuff digging into his wrist. His head throbbed. He wondered vaguely about Cherri. The bathroom walls crawled with mold and rot, with a large damp patch near the ceiling.  
  
After an indeterminable period of time, the door suddenly opened. Sprawl immediately stopped pacing and stood up straight. His expression flattened as if he were a soldier standing guard. Korse walked into the room. In an instant, Chow Mein’s nerves were flushed with adrenaline. Sprawl uncuffed him and hauled him to his feet, pushing him into the bedroom. He felt dizzy and light-headed, as if he were walking in a dream. When Korse turned to him, his entire body seized with panic.  
  
“Did you seek out the black market tonight?” Korse said. His voice was hard and cold as an axe blade.  
  
Chow Mein tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat.  
  
“Answer him,” Sprawl said.  
  
“Yes,” he said shakily.  
  
“What were you intending to buy?” Korse said.  
  
“An android,” he said.  
  
“For what purpose?”  
  
He drew in a shaky breath. “I wanted to keep it from falling into the hands of the Killjoys who were trying to activate Destroya.”  
  
Sprawl burst out laughing. “Oh, please!” he said. “So you were on our side this whole time? Yeah. I don’t think so.”  
  
Korse’s expression didn’t change. “Why did you attempt to purchase the android?” he said.  
  
“I’m telling you the truth,” he said. “I swear to God. I am not friends with the Killjoys, I don’t affiliate with them—”  
  
Korse’s hand shot out. He flinched back instinctively. Korse grabbed him by the collar and pressed the muzzle of his ray gun against his throat. Chow Mein grabbed his wrist, clutching fruitlessly at his sleeve.  
  
“Why did you attempt to purchase the android?” Korse repeated, pressing the gun harder against his throat.  
  
“I’m telling you the truth,” he said frantically. “I don’t work for the Killjoys, I don’t associate with them. I didn’t want Destroya to fall into their hands. I planned to destroy the android. I would have never handed it over to them—”  
  
“Your associate is a member of the Soldiers for Peace.”  
  
“He was. He was in the past. Believe me, I dropped all contact with him when I found out, but he’s recovered, he’s never hurt another person—”  
  
“Do you really believe that?” Sprawl said.  
  
“Quiet,” Korse said. He shifted the gun, pressing it under his chin. “Did you attempt to purchase that android with the intent of aiding the Killjoys?”  
  
“No,” Chow Mein said shakily. “No, I swear to God.”  
  
Korse looked him hard in the eye. He must have sensed that he was telling the truth, because he released him. Chow Mein stumbled back, clutching his throat. His entire body felt weak and shaky.  
  
“Lock him back up,” Korse said.  
  
“Yes, sir,” Sprawl said.  
  
Sprawl dragged him back to the sink and re-handcuffed him. Korse marched out the door, his long coat swaying behind him. When the door opened, Chow Mein caught a burst of chatter and activity from the hallway before the door slammed shut. Sprawl yawned and rubbed his jaw, then fell back on the bed. The mattress bounced under his weight.  
  
Chow Mein’s insides shook as if blood were draining out of his body. He wiped the sweat off his face. As the minutes went on, the shaking gradually stopped, but he felt distant, detached from the world. Fear washed over his body in waves. His handcuffed wrist ached from the strain. Korse’s presence still lingered in the room, like the stench of smoke clinging to the wallpaper.  
  
Sprawl occasionally stood up and paced around, then flopped down on the bed again. He responded to a few short transmitter calls. Aside from the voices and footsteps that occasionally passed the door, the room was silent. After what felt like an hour, the fear drained into exhaustion. Chow Mein’s head throbbed. His entire body ached with a hard, looming exhaustion as if he’d been awake for days. He sank back against the wall, wishing that he could lie down. He closed his eyes for a few moments, then a few seconds, sliding downward into what felt like a black hole…  
  
He violently jerked awake. His vision was black. He tried to jump to his feet, but the handcuff clanged against the pipe, yanking on his wrist. He shouted and collapsed against the floor. His heart raced with growing, swallowing panic. Had he gone blind? He desperately looked back and forth in the darkness until he saw a square of dark bluish light behind the bathroom curtains. Relief washed over him. He sank back against the wall, wincing and clutching his wrist, as angry shouts rang out through the building.  
  
Suddenly the lights switched on. Sprawl stood in the middle of the bedroom, looking around with a shocked look on his face. Equipment hummed to life in the rest of the building. Sprawl stood there for a few moments, breathing hard, then suddenly stormed out of the room and slammed the door. People raced up and down the hallway. Someone shouted nearby. Then the door burst open and Sprawl marched into the bathroom, yanking off the handcuff, pulling him to his feet, and shoving him down the hallway.  
  
“All right, let’s see what you know about this,” Sprawl said. He threw open a door and pushed him inside the room, shutting the door behind them.  
  
Flare and a Draculoid sat at the table, crisp white papers spread out in front of them. Maps and graphs were pinned to the walls. One Drac sat on the bed, typing on a laptop. Another spoke into her transmitter as she paced around the bathroom. Black sheets hung over the windows. Flare’s helmet sat on the table in front of her, the air tube dangling off the edge like a thick snake.  
  
“There he is,” Flare said. “All right, get over here. We want to know what you know about Destroya.”  
  
He stepped up to the table with Sprawl looming behind him. Flare sighed and tapped a few buttons on her tablet, then picked up the stylus.  
  
“Clearly, you had some kind of involvement with this,” she said. “We want to know what you know about the events in Salt City leading up to the past five minutes, when we experienced that second power surge.”   
  
“I have no involvement in this,” Chow Mein said. “A group of Killjoys are trying to activate Destroya. That’s all I know.”  
  
“Bullshit, you don’t know,” she said. “We know that Cherri Cola had friends up there. We want to know what you’ve been told.”  
  
“I was under the impression that you’d already arrested one of them.”  
  
“We arrested Kobra Kid, yes,” she said. “But we know there were more Killjoys up there. Who did he say was going to be part of this?”  
  
“Am I going to incriminate him if I respond?”  
  
Flare chuckled to herself. Something in the tone gave him a feeling of dread.  
  
“Nope,” she said. “You’re not going to incriminate him.  Now what did he say?”  
  
“No. Wait. What did you do with him?”  
  
“Just answer the goddamn question, Tommy,” Sprawl said behind him.  
  
“I’ll answer if you tell me what you did with Cherri.”  
  
Flare leaned back in her seat and draped her arm over the back of her chair. “Tom, you are in no position to be bargaining right now,” she said. “But I’ll answer you, because contrary to popular belief, we’re actually pretty honest with people.”  
  
She sifted through the papers on the table until she extracted a crisp sheet of paper. Before he saw the page, he knew instantly what it was. Dread washed over him like a rush of nausea.  
  
“Extermination order,” Flare said. “Korse signed it right before the power surge. He’s either on his way out, or it’s done already.”  
  
He was hit with a wave of light-headedness, like a shot of morphine. The room grew fuzzy around him. He must have stumbled backward, because Sprawl grabbed his arm to steady him. Flare looked at him blankly as if she’d read a minor news report.  
  
“There must be something you want,” he said shakily. “I’ve worked in the market for years, I’ll give you information on the black market. I’ll tell you about their sources. I’ll give you the numbers for links in the city—”  
  
“Tom, it’s over,” Flare said. “It’s done with. There’s no arguing it, no fighting it, no bargaining with it. When Korse signs that order, it’s done.”  
  
“Surely you could put him in rehab,” he said. “Or even send him to prison. I know he was a Soldier for Peace, but—”  
  
“Some people are beyond rehabilitation,” Flare said.  
  
He turned away, his eyes burning. Something seemed to have rotted inside him, like the night that he had discovered that Cherri was a Soldier for Peace. But this held a sense of finality, like he had crossed into some dark, unknown country from which he could never return. Sprawl nudged him over to the chair. He sat down, his head swimming.  
  
“There’s nothing left for you to fight for,” Flare said. “It’s over, it’s done. And you said that you weren’t on the Killjoys’ side anyway. So I’ll ask you one last time. Who went to Salt City today?”


	38. Chapter 38

Chow Mein sat on the bathroom floor, handcuffed to the pipe beneath the sink. Sprawl paced around in the bedroom. Occasionally he peered out the window, or opened the door and talked to someone in the hallway. After speaking to Flare, his pacing grew more frantic, the earlier cockiness gone. He answered a few short busts on his transmitter. Once he radioed Korse, but received no response. He leaned against the dresser, sighing and looking at the ceiling.  
  
As the night wore on, engines rumbled outside. More and more cars backed away from the motel. Sprawl’s transmitter calls became more frequent. Headlights glinted through the curtains. After repeatedly calling Korse and receiving no answer, he stormed out of the room. He returned a few minutes later with Flare following behind. She stopped at the doorway.  
  
“All right, so who all has left?” Sprawl said.  
  
“We lost most of the Dracs,” Flare said. “There’s just a few remaining in communications. Two Exterminators went to Salt City, the other one bailed on us. Most of the regular employees are gone.”  
  
“So what the hell are we supposed to do?” Sprawl said.  
  
“The Director’s sending us another Drac unit,” Flare said. “She said the ones who left broke about eight protocols. They’re in deep shit right now.”  
  
Sprawl laughed harshly. “Yeah, sure. What’s she going to do, take away their weed?”  
  
He sighed and swayed over to the bed, then fell back on the mattress. The springs creaked. He tucked his hands behind his head.  
  
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Flare said. “They’ll be here in about half an hour.”  
  
“And then what?”  
  
“He’ll go back to the city, we’ll head out to find Korse. He wants us in Salt City as soon as we’re available.”  
  
“Whatever,” Sprawl said.  
  
Flare rolled her eyes and left the room. Sprawl lay motionless on the bed for a while. Sprawl received a few calls, but there was no news that Chow Mein could decipher, just short bursts of code. Someone ran past the door, their footsteps pounding through the hallway. Sprawl raised his head, then groaned and lay down again. His transmitter buzzed.  
  
“Hello?” Sprawl said.  
  
“ _That Drac unit isn’t coming,_ ” Flare said. “ _They had to break up a riot in the Lobby. She’s sending another unit, but it might take another forty minutes._ ”  
  
“God fucking dammit,” Sprawl said. He groaned and rubbed his face with his hands, then swung his legs over to the side of the bed and stood up. He tried a new frequency. “Hey, 021? Hello? 021? 034? Come on, one of you assholes answer me.”  
  
Grimy mildew was streaked across the bathroom tiles. Dark, coffee-like stains surrounded the rusty towel rack. Chow Mein tugged on the handcuffs, keeping an eye on Sprawl.  
  
“Yes, I was asking for you!” Sprawl said. “Jesus Christ. Yeah. Hi. What the hell’s going on in the city?”  
  
Chow Mein winced as he strained his wrist against the cuff. The metal cuff dug into his flesh. He twisted his wrist back and forth, pushing the cuff over his wristbone. He tucked his thumb against his palm, then gritted his teeth as he pushed the cuff over the knuckle, scraping the skin. The cuff left a hot burn on his skin like a rug burn. He winced, flexing his fingers.  
  
“All right, let me explain something to you,” Sprawl said. “When Korse is here, I’m second in command. And when he’s gone, Flare and I are first in command, so—”  
  
The power went out, plunging them into darkness. Chow Mein jumped back like a frightened spider. Equipment in the other rooms let out a low hum, then went dead. For a moment, the motel was cast in silence. The room was pitch black except for the dark blue light behind the window curtains.  
  
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sprawl burst out. “God fucking dammit!” He swore as he fumbled with his transmitter. Chow Mein slowly climbed to his feet, then felt his way along the wall in the darkness. His hand closed over the towel rack.  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Sprawl said. Chow Mein gritted his teeth, then yanked the rack out of the wall. The rusty nails scraped against the rotting tiles. Sprawl turned around, then froze in place. “Hey,” he said. “ _Hey!_ You little shit!”  
  
As Sprawl darted forward, Chow Mein swung blindly in the darkness. The rack collided with something hard, like a knob of bone. Sprawl yelped, stumbling backward, then shoved him against the sink. Chow Mein shouted and struggled against him as Sprawl’s hands grabbed at his neck. In an instant, the lights switched back on. Sprawl’s hands closed around his throat, but he violently shoved him away. He swung again, hitting him in the shoulder. Sprawl reared back and punched him in the jaw. He staggered back, clutching his jaw, a searing pain ripping through the bone.  
  
Sprawl grabbed him by the collar and yanked him upright, then hit him again. And again. Suddenly he shouted and stepped back, clutching his side. A thin trickle of blood seeped between his fingers. Chow Mein held an old plastic Battery City ID card, cut in half at an angle, the pointed tip stained with blood. A trick he had learned from Cherri, one that wouldn’t show up on a Drac’s scanner. Before Sprawl could react, the rack collided with his skull. He stumbled back, still clutching his side, a spot of blood soaking through his shirt.  
  
Chow Mein rained blows on his head and shoulders, adrenaline streaming through his veins. Sprawl ducked away and tried to shove him to the ground, but he turned and smashed the rack into the side of his head. Sprawl dropped to the ground. Chow Mein stepped back, his heart pounding. Sprawl lay unconscious on the floor. Blood was smeared across his hand, trickling out on the floor tile.  
  
Chow Mein was hit with a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea. He staggered over to the sink and gripped the edge for support. Light spots danced in his vision. He took a few deep breaths and pushed back his sweaty hair, then crouched on the floor and turned Sprawl over. He yanked the white ray gun from his holster and tucked it inside his jacket. His first instinct was to open the back door, but he remembered the cars parked outside. He hoisted open the bathroom window, then crawled outside and jumped out onto the sidewalk, his knees buckling beneath him.  
  
He staggered out into the desert and darted across the plain. The desert flashed past him in a blur of black and purple. The wind whipped through his hair. He suddenly stopped and stumbled to a halt, then retched in the grasses. Wiping his mouth, he started to run again. Acid burned in his nose and throat. He ran until a stitch burned in his side and pain shot through his legs, then slowed to a walk, his body aching as if he’d been running for hours. His face was wet, but he couldn’t remember crying. He suddenly realized that he was shaking, his entire body trembling as if he were feverish.  
  
The air was cool. Crickets sung in the grasses. A sharp crescent moon hung in the sky like an ice pick. He wiped his sweaty face on his sleeve, his head throbbing. The ray gun inside his jacket weighed heavily against his side. He slipped it out and examined it. The casing was sleek and white, with blinking meters on the side. Black streaks extended from the tip. He tucked the gun back inside his jacket. The gun’s history seemed to cling to the casing, like the ghosts of the people who had faced down the barrel.  
  
As he walked through the tall grasses, the black sky beginning to lighten into deep blue, he thought of a time when he had walked to school in the early morning. His mother had refused to get out of bed, swatting at him when he tried to rouse her. It was so early that the sidewalks hadn’t been shoveled. His boots sank an inch into the snow. The streetlights cast a glare over the ice. As his breath fogged in the air, he thought of the heater in the class room, blasting hot air from the glowing orange coils. The heater in their apartment unit, like everything else, was silent and cold to the touch. Their vegetables were slimy and raw, the canned food greyish and oily, the aluminum lids scraping loudly in the dead silence of the kitchen.  
  
When he had arrived at the school, his teacher quickly ushered him inside. She smiled kindly as she led him into the dark classroom, where she had been preparing the day’s materials on the desk. He huddled in front of the heater, warming his hands in the hot air. The room was silent except for the shuffle of papers and the occasional scratching of a pencil. His stomach was knotted with the knowledge that when his mother realized he was gone, she would drive to the school in a frenzy, yanking him out of the classroom as her shouts rang through the hallway. As an adult, he thought that he had managed to shake this image from his head. But it was still there. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his mother would always be shouting.  
  
He stumbled through the desert until he came to a river cut through the ground, like a winding section of glass. Lights glinted beneath the mountains in the distance. It must have been a neutral town—no one else would build so close to Battery City. He sank to his knees in the grass. Under the night sky, the river appeared bluish. Tufts of grass were reflected in the surface. A hint of light had crept over the horizon, like a fire blazing in the distance.  
  
His first thought was the ray gun, but then he thought of Cherri slumped unconscious in the grass. He reached into the cold water and found a rock with a sharp edge. A few minutes later, he lay down on the edge of the river. The sky was growing lighter. The trees and mountains were silhouetted in blue. He slid his stinging wrist into the water, the blood trailing through the river. Vague memories stirred in the back of his mind: images from decades ago, back to his childhood, the black mass from the first half of his life that seemed to have choked everything else.  
  
Suddenly he remembered the yellow mask tucked inside his jacket. His first thought was to leave it. But then he thought of scavengers searching his body, stealing the mask, selling it to black market smugglers or handing it to Dracs for a reward. Taking that mask was one of the last things that Cherri had ever done. Did he promise to keep it safe? Did he take that mask assuming that he would be the one to return it? The mask represented something that Cherri had lived for, something that Chow Mein knew that he would never understand.  
  
He struggled to his feet, then stood on the edge of the river for a moment, feeling dizzy and light-headed. He stepped over the river and crossed through the desert, clutching his head. Lights swarmed in his vision. Blood dripped down his hands, leaving him weak and shaky. He stumbled through the grasses until the plants grew more sparse and gave way to a flat area of sand. Boxy wood houses sat beneath the mountains. An old railroad track cut through the center of the town, with powerlines strung above the buildings. A light glowed from a tall pole near one of the houses, like a greeting.  
  
He staggered over to one of the houses and knocked on the door. His hands were slick, his sleeves wet. When the door opened, a woman in a plaid dress jumped back and clapped her hands over his mouth. Chow Mein raised his hands. The world was growing fuzzy around him.  
  
“I’m not—I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. He drew out the mask from inside his jacket, then gripped the edge of the doorway. Shouts rang out inside the house. His head swimming, he focused on the light that shone above the house, glowing steadily, like the sun itself rising above the mountains.  
  
\---  
  
Chow Mein sat at a table in the bedroom. The furniture was made of wood, with white bedsheets and gauzy white curtains over the windows. A bookshelf stood near the doorway. Framed embroidery hung on the walls, signed _ANTJE L._ in blocky letters. A wooden cross hung above the window.  
  
“Can you move each of your fingers for me?” the medic said, sitting at the table in front of him. “All right. Very good. I wanted to make sure that you didn’t damage the nerves.”  
  
A thin woman stood near the doorway with her arms folded. Her face was creased with worry. After the medic had completed her examination, she picked up her bag and stood up. Chow Mein stood up out of habit. She shook his hand, then wheeled the empty IV rack over to the door.  
  
“I’ve left him with some antibiotics,” the medic said to the woman. “Make sure he changes the bandages every day. An infection’s just as dangerous as the injury itself.”  
  
The woman closed her eyes and nodded, her head bobbing.  
  
The medic leaned forward. “And for God’s sake, don’t leave him alone,” she said quietly. “Not even for a few minutes. Get in touch with his family as soon as you can.”  
  
“Of course,” she said. “Thank you.”  
  
When the medic left, the woman remained in the doorway. She peered into the room as if she were peering into the bottom of a well. “Auntie’s going to be here in a few minutes,” she said. “She said it’s okay that we gave you her room.”  
  
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll compentate you for the medic as soon as I can.”  
  
“Okay,” she said.  
  
An uncomfortable silence hung in the air. The woman hovered at the doorway like a frightened bird. Finally, he said “How long have you lived here?”  
  
“A few years,” she said.  
  
“Did you leave the city, or—”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
He raised his eyebrows and fell silent. A few minutes later, a car pulled up to the house. The woman darted away, relief washing over her face. Muffled voices sounded in the kitchen. He caught the word “Killjoy” a few times. Then a plump woman with bouncing blonde hair came bounding down the hallway, clutching a bag and suitcase. Chow Mein stood up.  
  
“Are you Antje?” he said, shaking her hand.  
  
The woman burst out laughing. He looked at her oddly.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Yes, I’m Antje, but most people just call me Auntie.” She dropped the bag and suitcase on the bed. “You must be either Dutch or German, because no one ever gets it right the first time.”  
  
“German,” he said. “On my mother’s side.”  
  
“Are you?” she said, opening her suitcase. “Well, isn’t that something.” She took out stacks of folded clothes. “You gave my niece and her cousins quite a scare this morning.”  
  
“I’m very sorry about that,” he said. “I wasn’t in my right mind.”  
  
Auntie shook her head as she carried the clothes to the closet. “Everyone in the desert gets like that, at some point or another,” she said. “Did Kim—that’s my niece—call any of your relatives?”  
  
“No, she didn’t,” he said.  
  
She looked back at him and sighed, rolling her eyes. “I’ll tell her to call them,” she said. “What’s their numbers?”  
  
After a moment, he said “She can call Kristan. K8XP. She’s an old friend of mine.”  
  
“You don’t have any relatives you want us to call?”  
  
“None living in the desert.”  
  
“All right. I’ll tell her just as soon as I’m done unpacking.” She laid her shoes at the foot of the bed. “I’m sorry about Kim,” she said, lining her socks in the drawer. “She’s not normally like this. She’s just a bit uncomfortable about having a Killjoy around.”  
  
“I understand,” he said.  
  
“I can tell that you’re not dangerous,” she said. “A bit of a danger to yourself, maybe. But I know that you wouldn’t hurt anybody. Are you married?” she said suddenly, looking up.  
  
“Excuse me?” he said.  
  
“I just noticed the wedding band on your finger,” she said. “Are you married, sir?”  
  
He looked down at his hand. He clutched his hand instinctively. “I’m divorced, actually,” he said. “I’ve been divorced for years.”  
  
“I see,” she said, lifting shoes out of the suitcase. “May I ask why you still wear the wedding band?”  
  
He rubbed the edge of the ring. “After a while, it became a habit,” he said after a few moments. “It was one of the last connections I still had to the city.”  
  
Auntie nodded, her hair bouncing. “I bet you thought your life was going to turn out differently, huh?” she said kindly.  
  
“Very,” he said.  
  
“Well, no one could blame you for wanting a source of stability,” she said. “Especially fellows like you who fought in the wars.”  
  
“Excuse me?” he said.  
  
She looked back at him. “You fought in the wars, didn’t you?” she said. “The Analog Wars? I know you were alive back then.”  
  
Chow Mein laughed despite himself. “I wasn’t old enough to serve in the Analog Wars,” he said. “I was twelve when the wars broke out.”  
  
She dropped her hand. “You were _twelve_?” she said. “I am so sorry, sir. I thought you were older than me.”  
  
He smiled faintly. “I’m not as old as I look,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “This job has aged me.”  
  
DJ arrived an hour later, her hair tied back in a ponytail. The stench of smoke clung to her clothes. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly. “Tom, I’m so sorry,” she said. “God, I wish I’d known you were at the market. We could’ve called somebody for protection.”  
  
Chow Mein shook his head as they separated. “That probably would have led to bloodshed,” he said. “It was three armed Draculoids. Even Cherri didn’t try to fight them off.”  
  
Something drained out of his voice when he mentioned Cherri. They sat down at the table. DJ’s hair was dry and stringy, as if she hadn’t washed it recently.  
  
“I’m so sorry about Cherri,” she said quietly.  
  
He looked up at her. “Who told you about that?” he said.  
  
“That woman did. When she called me. You must’ve told them about it.” She looked at him oddly. “Don’t you remember?”  
  
“I don’t remember anything after I knocked on their door,” he said.  
  
She nodded with her eyes lowered. “I called Steve about it,” she said. “He’s got people all over the place, searching for the body. Kobra and his friends are probably going to want his gun, but Steve wants you to have his mask, and probably his—”  
  
“I’d prefer not to talk about it, if that’s all right with you.”  
  
She nodded silently, toying with her water bottle. After a few moments, she said “Last night was the worst night of my life.”  
  
“Was it?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“We were out there for hours, trying to get the damn thing running,” she said. “All with people screaming at us every five minutes that the Dracs were approaching. They managed to fight them off until the end, but it was the most nerve-wracking thing I’ve ever experienced—trying to figure out the control system, not knowing if my head was about to be blown off by ‘Crows, or what. We almost got it running a few times.”  
  
“I noticed the power surges,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Yeah. Well, the first time it was an old android from the 90s that just fizzled out. The second one was newer, but it couldn’t handle the overload, either. Then someone brought this new android that they’d been hiding out in Zone Three. I mean, he drove all the way from Three just to bring it to us. I don’t know where the hell he got it. There was a bunch of equipment stuck to the back to keep it running outside of the city. So the android put its hand on Destroya, and it started to light up, and I thought it was going to activate—and that’s right when the fucking ‘Crows showed up.”  
  
“Korse?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Yeah. Him and a couple of others. They got a few people away at gunpoint, but I was still inside the head, and we had about four people guarding the android. So we ended up negotiating. We said that if you bring us the hostages, we’ll cut off the main power system.”  
  
“Did you?” he said.  
  
“Yup. They brought us the hostages, and I cut the main wire. They had to bring me a hacksaw. It was the size of a drainage pipe.” She shook her head, then wiped her eyes. “I mean, someone might be able to repair it, but…I felt like I pulled the plug on somebody, you know?” She sighed and sank back in the chair. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m talking about this. It’s nothing compared to what happened to you.”  
  
He raised a hand and shook his head, as if to tell her not to worry about it. He tried to speak, but something burned in his throat.  
  
DJ took a sip from her water bottle. “So…what do you think?” she said quietly. “Do you want to go back home?”  
  
“No,” he said immediately. “I’m sorry. No. Not right now.”  
  
“No, that’s fine,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got all the time in the world.”  
  
The morning slowly passed into afternoon. DJ told him stories about her co-workers at the tech shop and the people they encountered. Auntie made lunch, but neither of them were hungry. The weight of Cherri’s absence hung in the room. DJ browsed the books on the shelf: _Better Living Technical Manual, English-to-Spanish Dictionary, Common Plants and Herbs of the Mojave Desert.  
  
_ When the afternoon drew into evening, someone knocked at the door. DJ frowned and peered down the hallway. A familiar voice rang out in the kitchen. A few minutes later, Dr. Death wheeled into the room. DJ acknowledged him, then excused herself. Dr. Death’s hair was flat and limp. His expression was tired, but not surprised, as if he had been in this situation several times before.  
  
“Hey, Tom,” Dr. Death said quietly.  
  
“Hello, Steve,” Chow Mein said, smoking at the table. The window was open. The curtains fluttered in the breeze.  
  
Dr. Death wheeled up to the table. He was silent for a few moments. “I talked to Kobra on the way up here,” he said finally. “They’re still—you know. Looking for the body. I told them that whatever you decide, they need to respect your wishes.”  
  
Chow Mein exhaled smoke into the air. “Is it up to me now?” he said.  
  
“I think Cherri would prefer it if you handled it,” Dr. Death said. “I mean, if you’re up to it, of course. No one expects you to do anything right now. But I think you knew him better than anyone.”  
  
“I don’t think I knew him much more than anyone else did,” he said. “He was my employee.”  
  
“Tom, you know that isn’t true.”  
  
“I spent five years hating him,” he said.  
  
“You never hated him,” Dr. Death said. “You always loved him. That’s why you were so sick about it.”  
  
Chow Mein shook his head and looked away, breathing smoke into the air. The desert stretched beyond the window, clustered with shrubs, Joshua trees, and prickly pear cacti. The sun loomed over the mountains. He wondered if he could get his hands on a gun with real bullets.  
  
“I don’t know where to go from here,” Dr. Death said, his eyes on the window. “I know Kristan feels like shit about Destroya. Half the people in the Zones want blood after all the shit that went down. Val and Volume are probably going to break out and get everyone stirred up. Kobra’s still freaked out about being held hostage like that, it’s just—” He rubbed a hand across his face. “It’s a mess, Tom. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do about it.”  
  
“You don’t owe them anything,” Chow Mein said.  
  
“Yeah, people say that, but…I don’t want to just sit back and watch the Zones collapse in on itself,” he said. “God knows I’ve already tried that.”  
  
Chow Mein took another drag, then reached into his jacket. He handed Dr. Death the mask. “Here,” he said. “Poison gave this to Cherri after his brother was captured.”  
  
“Thank you,” Dr. Death said. “Have you had it this whole time?”  
  
“Yes, I have,” he said.  
  
Dr. Death tucked the mask inside his military vest, then looked back at him. “Tom, I’m worried about you,” he said.  
  
Chow Mein didn’t respond. He simply looked back at him.  
  
“I’ve been worried about you for a long time,” he said. “To be honest with you, even without Cherri—I think this has been a long time coming.”  
  
He rested the joint in the ashtray. “Well, my father shot himself after sixty years,” he said. “God knows that my mother was never quite stable, either. I think that if I had any chance, it was back in the city.”  
  
Dr. Death shook his head. “The city wouldn’t have helped you,” he said. “They’d just give you a handful of pills, tell you to deal with it. I’ve known people who have been through the whole system. It’s bullshit.”  
  
“I’m sure it’s bullshit,” he said. “It’s all bullshit. But I prefer that to the system in the Zones, where only the rich have access to medication.”  
  
“I know,” Dr. Death said. “I know, it’s just—Jesus, when did everything fall apart like this? There was a time when I thought that you, me, and Kristan were all going to live in that house forever.”  
  
“You made your decision,” he said. “So did I.”  
  
“Yeah, but I always thought I was doing the right thing at the time,” he said. “Then I look back and I say, what the hell was I thinking? People still give me shit for partnering with the Vs for so long. And sometimes they talk shit about you, say your prices are too high or whatever, and I’m like—man, we’re just trying to survive out here. That’s all we’re trying to do. I mean, I don’t think I’m a bad person, deep down inside. Do you?”  
  
 Chow Mein didn’t respond. His eyes were on the window.  
  
“Look,” Dr. Death said quietly. “I promise you, no matter what people say about you, and I know you hear a lot of shit—no one wants to see you do this to yourself.”  
  
When he received no response, he reached into the bag that hung from the side of his chair. “Here,” he said. “I actually brought you something. Pony got his hands on these a while ago. I’ve wanted to give them to you for a while, but never had the chance.”  
  
Dr. Death handed him a set of cards printed with the names and images of saints. Chow Mein slipped off the rubber band. The cards were creased and yellowed, with ragged edges.  
  
“I heard that you were named after one of them,” Dr. Death said. “Saint Thomas.”  
  
“Yes, that’s right,” Chow Mein said. He fanned out the cards and slid out the card labeled _Saint Thomas the Apostle._ The image showed a bearded man in a long green robe standing in front of Jesus. Their heads were circled with halos.  
  
“I think my mother owned a set like this,” he said.  
  
“Did she?” Dr. Death said. “Yeah. Just don’t show it to anyone. No one’s going to believe that Tommy Chow Mein is a Catholic.”  
  
He smiled faintly as he straightened the cards, then tucked them inside his jacket. The sun was starting to set, casting a square of orange light across the table. A quietness had settled over the desert outside. Pots and pans rustled around in the kitchen. Dr. Death reached out and patted his arm.  
  
“I love you, man,” he said quietly.  
  
Chow Mein nodded and looked away. Voices carried from the kitchen. The smell of food wafted down the hallway, but neither of them moved, sitting at the table in an understanding silence.  
  
\---  
  
Night had fallen. A ceiling light glowed dimly over the table. When Chow Mein had asked for a lantern, Auntie had laughed good-naturedly and flicked the light switch. DJ, who had stepped outside earlier for a cigarette, reported that electric lights glowed all over town. Solar panels glinted from the roofs like sheets of water.  
  
DJ crouched in front of the bookshelf, flipping through the books on the bottom shelf. “God, I’d kill for a new tech manual,” she said. “The one at the shop is from 2006.” She pulled out a thick leatherbound book and sat down at the table. “My grandma had a Bible like this,” she said, flipping through the pages. “I haven’t seen one like this in years. All the ones I’ve seen were from the city.”  
  
“They’ve floated through the store a few times,” Chow Mein said. “I don’t think Killjoys have much interest in them.”  
  
“I don’t think they do, either,” she said. “Everybody believes in the Phoenix Witch now.”  
  
“I don’t think they really believe in it,” Chow Mein said. “I think they know that it’s just a legend.”  
  
“I don’t know what I believe in,” DJ said. She opened the front cover, where a list of names was written in fade blue ink. “You know, I’ve always wondered—do you still believe in God?”  
  
He was silent for a few moments. “I don’t know if I can answer that,” he said.  
  
Someone knocked on the door. Chow Mein jumped in his seat, then stood up. Auntie stood outside, an excited look on her face. He started to draw back, but she drew him forward. “No, come on, come on!” she said. “Get in here! There’s someone here to see you!”  
  
“What’s going on?” DJ said behind him.  
  
“Just come on!” Auntie said.  
  
She gestured for them to follow her, then hurried into the kitchen. The room was lit with warm orange light. Dr. Death sat at the table with a radio in front of him. Kim stood near the kitchen counter with her hands folded behind her back. A scruffy man stood in the center of the room, his hair stuck to his face with sweat. Dried blood was smeared across his neck. A set of dog tags hung around his neck, reflecting the light.   
  
Chow Mein stepped forward, hardly daring to believe it. When their eyes met, a combination of pain and relief flashed across Cherri’s face. Cherri ran up to him and threw his arms around him. They held each other tightly. Cherri’s hair reeked of sweat and smoke, as if he’d been living in the wilderness. He wiped his face when they separated, his eyes red and watery.  
  
“I’m sorry, Tom,” Cherri said. “I’m so sorry I didn’t go back for you.”  
  
“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “If you’d come back, they would have killed you.”  
  
“How did you find us?” DJ said, leaning forward with her arms folded.  
  
“I radioed D,” Cherri said. “I found this old abandoned house, and—” His voice broke. “I’m sorry. I can’t talk about this right now.” He rubbed the side of his neck, where the blood had dried on the skin, then sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand.  
  
“Cherri, why don’t you sit down,” Dr. Death said. “Kim, Auntie, would you excuse us for a few minutes?”  
  
“Well, certainly,” Auntie said. “We’ll just be on the front porch.” She gestured for Kim to follow, then headed outside. Kim darted outside as if she had narrowly escaped a fire.  
  
Cherri didn’t sit down. “D,” he said. “I don’t think you understand what happened here.”  
  
“Cherri. Just sit down.”  
  
“I can’t sit down, D,” he said. “I can’t sit down with you.”  
  
“It’s not about that. I’m just asking you, Cherri. As a friend. Just sit down.”  
  
“Look, I only came over here to make sure that Tom was okay,” he said. His voice was growing strained. “I can’t just sit here and act like everything’s normal, D, because it’s not. There’s no normal for me.”  
  
“Nobody in the desert is ‘normal,’” Dr. Death said.  
  
“Do most people kill Dracs?” Cherri said. “Do your friends kill Dracs and end up at a house ten miles away, covered in blood?”  
  
“Cherri,” he said.  
  
“When they took me outside, it’s like a switch went off,” Cherri said. “I don’t—I don’t even remember what I did. I remember breaking the handcuffs, and—I could hear them screaming. Jesus, I can still hear them screaming. And there was a fire, like the ones we used to make to burn their IDs…” His voice cracked. “I ran through the desert until I found an empty house. I busted in the window. There was dirt all over the floor. I remember that. Dirt all over the floor, and these huge stacks of newspapers in the corner…”  
  
He rubbed at his neck and looked away. His eyes were red. For the first time, Chow Mein noticed the fabric wrapped around his knuckles like bandages. Cherri paced back and forth, clutching his forehead.  
  
“I’ve done the most fucked-up things,” Cherri said. “I’ve killed people, I’ve tortured Dracs, I’ve executed them, and you still talk to me like I didn’t do anything. Why? Why do you do this to me?”  
  
“Cherri, there is no _why_ ,” Dr. Death said.  
  
Cherri’s face was lined with strain. He ran a hand through his hair, then turned and marched out of the kitchen. Dr. Death looked at Chow Mein, wondering if he should follow, but he shook his head. DJ folded her arms and sank back against the counter, her eyes on the ground.  
  
“I’ve known men like him,” Dr. Death said. “The military drills that shit into you. I’ve met men from the Helium Wars who could still recite their drills like it was yesterday. You blew a whistle, and they’d snap to attention like they were about to go in combat. I’m sure the Soldiers for Peace hammered that shit into his head every day.”  
  
“Are you saying that he’ll never be free of it?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“I don’t know,” Dr. Death said quietly. “Tom, at this point, I don’t know what the hell’s going to happen to any of us.”  
  
After a few minutes of silence, Auntie opened the screen door and peered inside. Dr. Death invited her to come in. While Auntie and Kim headed inside, Chow Mein walked past them and stepped out onto the porch. Lights shone inside the buildings across the railroad tracks. The light attached to the pole glowed above the house. The town was surrounded by a bluish darkness that turned the mountains into a shapeless, rolling mass and trees into spindly silhouettes like roots crawling across the sky.  
  
That night, he was sitting near the bedroom window when he heard footsteps in the house. He looked up. DJ was asleep on the military cot they’d carried into the bedroom. The footsteps creaked through the house, then seemed to stop in the living room. A door squeaked. Something clinked and rustled. He slowly climbed to his feet, then stepped out into the hallway. The house was dark.  
  
He stepped into the living room. Someone stood in front of the glass cabinet. In the dim light, he could faintly make out the outline of Cherri’s frame. When Cherri heard his footsteps, he jumped and turned around, then stopped. “Sorry,” he said, breathing hard. “You scared me.”  
  
“What are you doing?” Chow Mein said.  
  
In Cherri’s hands was a cut glass dish. The green glass appeared dark blue in the moonlight. “My mother had one like this,” Cherri said. “She had it before the wars. I don’t know it survived all those years of traveling, but…” The light sparkled off the glass. “She kept it in one of the cabinets. I always wanted to use it, but she told me it was for special occasions.”  
  
He rubbed his thumb along the edge of the glass, then placed it in the cabinet and closed the door. “Sorry,” he said. “I wouldn’t normally be going through people’s things, but…” He wrapped his arms around himself. “Jesus, Tom,” he said. “I know I’ve we’ve had this conversation before, but…I don’t know how I’m going to make it through this night.”  
  
After a moment, Chow Mein sat in the chair next to the cabinet. Cherri took a seat on the end of the couch. He squeezed his hands together and rubbed his left wrist.  
  
“Cherri, you’re not going crazy,” Chow Mein said.  
  
Cherri laughed wearily. “Doesn’t feel that way,” he said. “I feel like I’m losing my mind, like I don’t have control over my body. What if one day I go off on you? Or Kobra?”  
  
Chow Mein took a breath. “Did Steve tell you how I got out of the motel?” he said.  
  
“No, he didn’t,” Cherri said.  
  
“I had to fight off the guard,” he said. “He was one of Korse’s partners. I pulled a towel rack out of the wall and hit him with it until I knocked him unconscious.”  
  
Cherri’s eyes widened in surprise. Sadness crept into his face.  
  
“I couldn’t believe that I’d done it,” Chow Mein said. “I don’t think I could do it now, if you asked me. God knows I wasn’t in my right mind at the time.”  
  
“It was self-defense,” Cherri said. “I mean, which one was it? Was it Sprawl? The one in the black jacket?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Cherri laughed harshly. “Yeah,” he said. “Sprawl’s an asshole. I mean, they’re both awful, but Sprawl’s worse. He probably would have killed you, to be honest.”  
  
“I’m sure they’re all terrible,” he said. “I didn’t feel sorry for him. But when I left, all I could hear was my mother telling me that I’d have to answer to God for what I’d done.”  
  
Cherri looked down at his hands, fidgeting. “You’re not going to have to answer to anyone,” he said quietly. “I don’t think you’ve ever really done wrong by anybody. I mean, I know you’ve had a lot of arguments, but I’ve never seen you try to screw anyone over. There are guys that are way sleazier than you.”  
  
Chow Mein laughed. “Thank you,” he said.  
  
Cherri smiled weakly. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”  
  
“I know what you meant,” he said.  
  
Cherri fiddled with the bracelets on his wrist, then slipped off a set of beads and handed it to him. “I don’t know if it’ll help, but…I’ve been using these for a while,” he said. “They’re prayer beads. Poison’s actually the one that told me about this. I think his family was religious.”  
  
“Were his parents Catholic?” Chow Mein said.  
  
“I don’t know,” Cherri said. “I mean, I don’t really pray much, but sometimes it’s kind of comforting. You know?”  
  
Chow Mein nodded. “I know,” he said.  
  
The bracelet was strung with wooden beads and a tiny wooden cross. The wood was polished to a dark shine. He moved to hand it back to him, but Cherri closed his fingers over it. “Keep it,” he said.  
  
After thanking him, he tucked it inside his jacket. The wind stirred the tree branches outside. The windows cast squares of blue light over the furniture. He thought about suggesting that they go to bed, but decided against it when Cherri started to speak. They talked quietly in the living room, the air filled with a hushed silence around them, until the sky started to lighten and the first birds chirped and fluttered around the trees.


End file.
